The Sherlock Complex
by ShoweredThoughts
Summary: The Doctor's death on Lake Silencio means change for the Ponds. But while Rory stays in Leadworth, Amy decides to move to London in order to forget about the heart breaking death. She ends up on Baker Street, and it's only a matter of time before she becomes a part of Sherlock and John's adventures - all while trying to keep her past a secret.
1. Chapter 1

_Hello lovely readers! This story's idea sort of evolved from my first Sherlock/Amy story, the Girl Who Waited for the Consulting Detective, so much of the story may essentially be the same; however, what I hope to try to narrate is a more action packed and inclusive role for Amy in a Sherlock-esque story. Thanks for reading!_

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**The Sherlock Complex**

**Prologue**

The Doctor was dead. No one could comfort Amelia Pond. _Amy_. Only the Doctor could call her Amelia. River, her daughter, was travelling through time, and couldn't stay long to keep her mother in good spirits. Rory was also taking the death pretty hard. He'd grown close to the Doctor and couldn't bear to take on both his and his wife's grievances.

When Amy unexpectedly told Rory that she wanted to move away from Leadworth, he questioned her. It was so out of the blue and without any warning. He tried to convince her that Leadworth was where they belonged. That town was their way of remembering the Doctor. Their adventures started there, so why would she want to move? He also had a career there, and he couldn't give that up either.

She surprised him more when she said that he should stay in Leadworth. _She_ wanted to go alone. Rory couldn't get a reason out of her, but he abided by her wishes. She promised him that she wouldn't spend too long there – maybe a few months – and he was always welcomed to visit. The day she left was a somber day for the couple. She was certainly happy that she was finally trying to move on from the Doctor, but she knew she was being selfish by leaving Rory alone.

Amy couldn't stand to be in Leadworth. She was blaming herself for his death. If she didn't pray to Santa for someone to come fix her crack, maybe he wouldn't have showed up. Maybe if she never went outside to see what the ruckus was, he never would have introduced himself. Then again, it could have all been a fixed point in time that Amy couldn't have stopped. Why did his death have to be a fixed point in time? She needed to leave to forget about these emotions. Every new adventure she had, no matter how small, she would think of the Doctor. She didn't want to remember all of the exciting adventures they had because it only brought her to tears by the time she reached her last memory of the Doctor. She wanted a peaceful life – at least for now.

Between the times she told Rory she wanted to get away to the time where her feet touched the streets of London, she already secured a job – a modeling contract – and a flat. Everything was set. She kissed Rory on the lips hard, promising him that she'll come back, and demanding him to go visit when he can.

The cab dropped her off in front of the apartment complex. She looked at her slip of paper that had the apartment number on it. 221c Baker Street.

**Chapter 1**

_ The dream was happening in reverse. She lay there in the sand sobbing. Her head was on his chest, hoping, praying, that any of the Doctor's hearts would miraculously start beating. But it wouldn't, and she'd keep crying. She couldn't breathe and her tears were making everything blurry._

"_Wake up. Go on, wake up! You stupid, bloody idiot," she stroked his head. _

_Amy held her knees closer to her body and slightly rocked in her place just staring in disbelief. River looked at Amy with eyes that are full of apologizes. Apologizes that will extend even past the Doctor's death. _

"_I'm sorry," his last words sounding like an echo in Amy's mind._

_She watched as he began to regenerate. She could feel and see the pain that he was experiencing. She felt Rory and River holding her back. The Doctor gets shot by an Apollo astronaut._

The sound of a gun being shot was heard. Amy woke up in a panic and got up as quickly as she could. She hadn't met the upstairs occupants, besides Mrs. Hudson, so maybe someone was being shot. She grabbed her phone and was just about to call the police when she heard someone running up the stairs shouting.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!" the man yelled.

"Bored!" the second man yelled.

Bored? Amy mouthed. Who was so bored that he would shoot a gun in the middle of his living room? She heard some more mumbling coming from the two men upstairs, and then two pairs of feet going up and down the staircase.

Amy plopped her head back onto her pillow and went back to sleep. The only problem was that she kept seeing the Doctor's cold body lying in the sand. It was only her first day in London, so she reassured herself that it would take a little while longer to forget about the nightmare that consumed her thoughts.

It didn't take her long to forget when an explosion rattled Baker Street.

The glass from all her small windows shattered. She clutched her phone in one hand and tried to get to her door. Since she just moved in that afternoon, she didn't have to dodge any furniture in the empty living room. Her ears were ringing and it made it harder for her to walk. One floor up, Amy saw Mrs. Hudson on the ground trying to get up.

"Mrs. Hudson! Are you alright?" She helped Mrs. Hudson to her feet.

"I'm fine, dear," she said as she brushed the soot off her sweater.

Mrs. Hudson's eyes went wide, "Sherlock!"

"Who?" Amy asked.

"Sherlock, he lives upstairs with John. He must still be upstairs!" Mrs. Hudson was about to leap into action to try to save Sherlock, but Amy held her back.

"I'll go," Amy said.

"Be careful, love," Mrs. Hudson told a coughing Amy.

Amy was only in a nightie, which probably wasn't the best attire for someone who was trying to save someone amongst a heap of rubble, but it would have to work for her now. The room Amy had to cautiously step in looked like a warzone. Shattered glass was everywhere, torn books were scattered about, and a groaning man was on the ground. That must have been Sherlock. Amy maneuvered her way around the rubble and got to Sherlock. Sherlock put his arm around her as she led him down the stairs. She had to muster up her energy to even support Sherlock's body.

"Are you okay?"

He was still groaning, but she took that as a yes. As soon as they were outside, Sherlock let go of his grip as he was coming to his senses. The other people who didn't seem injured were huddled in the middle of a street. Sirens from a fire truck were blaring from down the block. Ambulances were slowly pouring in. Amy led Sherlock to the nearest ambulances. She insisted that they both get checked out even though he was adamant in saying that he was fine.

Her nightie was now covered in dirt, and she was freezing. She just wanted a blanket, but the paramedic ignored her request because they had run out. Sherlock walked over to her.

"Here," Sherlock gave his blanket to her. "They keep giving me this blanket."

"It's for shock," the paramedic told him.

"But I'm not in shock, and she's freezing!" he yelled at the man.

Sherlock draped the blanket over Amy's pale and shivering body.

"Thanks," she said.

Sherlock nodded and walked away.

As he was getting patched up for a few cuts in a different ambulance, she silently watched. Sherlock was in a now tattered dark blue robe. _TARDIS blue?_ She shook her head – she had to stop comparing things that were dark blue with the colour of the TARDIS. _Observe everything_. She heard the Doctor's voice in her head. After going to Starship UK, she eventually got the hang of noticing just about everything, though she would never be up to the Doctor's standards. Sherlock's curly hair was in a mess, though she guessed that he didn't usually do his hair anyways. He was tall, from what she remembered, and was pretty slim, but had enough strength and stamina to survive the explosion. He had high cheekbones, and eyes that were blue? Green? It was hard to tell in the light coming from the streetlamps. Remembering the state of his flat, she noticed the bookcase full of books and papers strewn all over the floor. Was he a scholar of some sort or did he just enjoy reading? He couldn't have been a teacher or professor, going by the fact that he had a lot of test tubes and apparatuses in the kitchen than someone of that profession would have. And the skull. A scientist maybe? The way he presented himself, though, suggested something entirely different. Sherlock's actions, that Amy could observe from him sitting still in the ambulance, were very reserved, and he obviously wasn't succumbing to shock. Had he been in situations like this before?

Amy was about to introduce herself as she realized questions were being piled up in her brain, but none of them answered, but Sherlock left as fast as she brought him outside. He was already walking back to the flat, even after the police man advised him not to. She saw Mrs. Hudson talking to a few people. She wandered over and Mrs. Hudson caught sight of her. From what Amy gathered, Mrs. Hudson was not just any lady.

"Well, what a day in London, wouldn't you say so?" Mrs. Hudson, who seemed as calm as a rock, said to Amy. "I hope this means you won't be moving out."

"No, I don't think so," Amy wasn't sure.

An explosion wasn't going to rattle her bones – she'd been through so much more with the Doctor that an explosion was almost at the bottom of her "level of danger" list. This was exciting for her. She frowned. Standing in the middle of the street in the middle of the night, Amy was beginning to doubt if going to London was a correct choice. She wanted to get away from the crazy, and the danger, yet she was staring at it right in the face. Did she want the peaceful? She knew it didn't suit her, and like anything exciting, she was instinctively drawn into it. These thoughts turned into frustrations. But those frustrations turned into exhaustion. She, like the other people, had been waiting a few hours for the Ok to return to their flats.

It was just after three in the morning that she finally returned to her flat after the fire wardens told her and the group of people that it was more or less safe to return. She opened her door and went straight to sleep – the exhaustion being too much for her to clean up the glass or to dream of the Doctor.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Amy slept through her first alarm. And her second. Finally, her third alarm went off and she got up and raced to get ready, also trying to avoid cutting her feet on the broken shards of glass on the floor. She was begging that she wouldn't be late for her first modeling job in London. Quickly, she put together her outfit – which incorporated her favorite mini skirt – and grabbed her portfolio. There wasn't much in it – just a few headshots, but at least one of those headshots made it into a perfume ad, to which she became fairly famous in Leadworth. With that she hoped she'd be able to snag a photoshoot or something of the sort. It's not like she really needed a job – when the Doctor was alive, his wedding gift was not only the house and the car, but a cheque that meant being well off for a long time – but she needed to do something with her life.

Amy ran up the stairs and nearly collided into a man. He was also in a rush.

"Sorry!" She yelped.

The man collected himself before he spoke, "Amy, right? You live downstairs?"

"Yeah," she said. "Who are you?"

"John. John Watson. I live upstairs. I share the flat with Sherlock," his eyes widened. "Oh my god, are you alright? I heard about the explosion."

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm sorry, I'm in a rush, we'll chat later?"

"Right, yeah. I should check up on him."

John went up the stairs, two or three steps at a time, and Amy headed out the door. Amy made a split second observation of John. It was obvious to her that because he said his name twice to introduce himself, he was familiar with formality. When he spoke to her, his posture said something of discipline. Though, then again, anything compared to the Doctor's childlike posture and persona was formal to her. He was caring, but that was easy to see, especially since he taken so much concern in such a short span of knowing each other. Walking out the door, she caught a cab and gave the address of where her potential job was.

Back upstairs, John saw Sherlock speaking with Mycroft. They didn't seem worried that there was an explosion. John sat down and listened in on their conversation. It was a typical conversation of the two: Mycroft offering or commanding Sherlock to take a case and then Sherlock declining. On the off chance that Sherlock was bored, he may take the case, but today, he just wanted to annoy his brother. Instead, the information was handed to John. It was something about missing missile plans and a mysterious death.

"What happened last night? Are you hurt?" John asked after Mycroft left.

"No, no, I'm fine."

"What about Mrs. Hudson?"

"I think she's alright. Whose perfume is that?"

John gave him a confused look, "what?"

"Well that's not the type Sarah likes to use, so whose is it? I can smell it on you just as you walked in."

John thought for a moment, wondering if Sherlock thought John was sleeping with another woman, "It must have been Amy's"

"Who's Amy?" Sherlock asked.

"She lives in 221c. Don't you listen to Mrs. Hudson?" John chastised.

"Of course I do, I assumed what she was telling us wasn't relevant at the time," Sherlock shrugged, placing his violin on the table.

"Have you met her yet?"

"Amy?"

"Don't think so."

"Maybe we should invite her to tea. A friendly gesture of hospitality" John suggested.

Sherlock groaned. He didn't want to place himself in a position where he had to be nice – or interact – but to get John off his back, he agreed, "Fine. We're out of milk, by the way."

"I'll go and get some later, is 8 o'clock fine with you?"

"Seeing as I do not have any cases, John, that would be the perfect time."

John rolled his eyes. Sherlock's phone rang. It was Detective Inspector Lestrade.

"Mrs. Hudson?" John passed by her before he left the flat with Sherlock. "If Amy comes back, can you tell her that she's welcome to join us for tea at 8?"

"Sure thing, love," Mrs. Hudson replied. "A new murder?"

"We don't know yet," John said.

During the ride there, Sherlock wondered about the explosion. His brain, unfortunately, wouldn't comprehend what was happening till he got outside. He was thankful that the woman helped him out. But who was she? He didn't bother going into much detail at the time, though he eventually did seeing that the cab ride was boring. John, on the other hand, was thinking about what to buy at the grocery store.

At the police station, Sherlock received a package. Inside it, there was a replica of Jennifer Wilson's phone. One message was waiting for him. 5 pips. A picture of 221c. The game was on.

Sherlock, John, and Lestrade raced over to 221c Baker Street.

"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock called out.

Mrs. Hudson opened the lock to Amy's flat. The living room area was bare, save a pair of trainers sitting perfectly in the centre of the room.

"Those aren't Amy's, right?" John asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "Where is she right now?"

"Probably at work," John replied.

"Find out where these shoes came from."

John left to find Mrs. Hudson. She was holding a broom and dustpan, and was ready to sweep up Amy's room in a second. Although she kept telling John and Sherlock that she was just their landlady, her house keeping nature was beginning to come out.

"Be careful down there, love. There's glass everywhere!"

"Could you give me Amy's number? I need to speak to her right now."

She gave Amy's number to John. He dialed the number.

"Hello?" Amy answered.

"Hi. Amy? This is John."

Amy was sitting in the waiting room of a casting call for a fashion show. She didn't have any experience walking down a runway, but at least she'd try.

"How'd you get my number?" she asked.

"Mrs. Hudson gave it to me. Look, I have a question," John began. "Do you know you have a pair of men's trainers sitting in your living room right now?"

"You're in my flat?" Amy was getting a little creeped out.

"Well, no. Sherlock and Detective Inspector Lestrade is. Amy, just, answer the question please."

Her heart started beating a little faster when she heard the DI was in her living room, "No, I don't own a pair of men's trainers."

"Had anyone entered your flat when you left this morning?"

"No, I locked the door, and left," she said, getting anxious.

"Okay, thanks Amy," John hung up leaving Amy with a lot of questions.

"Amy?" the designer's assistant called her. "Let's quickly take your measurements and you can show us your walk!"

An exasperated Amy put her phone back into her purse and picked up her portfolio. She'd have to deal with John, Sherlock and the DI later.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Amy returned later that afternoon to see that Sherlock, John, and the DI were no longer in her flat.

"Oh, hello, Amy!" Mrs. Hudson sounded cheery, even after the explosion. "By the way, John has invited you to tea at 8."

"Great," Amy said. "Have you seen any of them? I heard that they were in my flat. Do you know why?"

"I think they have a new case. Sherlock is going to be so happy."

Policemen? She couldn't picture John and Sherlock as such, especially with the contents in their apartment. Well, at least she'd always be safe around them.

Amy entered her flat and looked around. The shoes that John talked about were gone, but she noticed that her flat was cleaned – there weren't any shards of glass anywhere. She looked to see if anything was taken; not that she had much to take, but stopped when she realized how empty everything looked. She felt slightly embarrassed knowing that people have been in her flat and there was no furniture. As soon as she could, she went out and bought a load of furniture and decorations and got to work.

After a couple of hours, she sat down on her new couch and had a drink. She was exhausted and hungry, but it was nearly time for tea. Looking around her room, she smiled at her accomplishment. It was smaller than she was use to, but it was better than it being _bigger on the inside_.

Upstairs, Sherlock and John were so busy trying to figure out their Carl Powers case that they completely forgotten about tea – they only had a few hours left before the sniper would detonate the bomb. It was only when John found Amy knocking at their door did he remember.

"Oh! Tea!" John looked angry at himself.

"I'm guessing you didn't remember?" Amy asked.

"John!" Sherlock called from the kitchen.

"What?!" John yelled back. "Come in Amy, make yourself at home. I'll, uh, get the tea started."

"Are you sure? You seem quite busy," Amy was hesitant. She didn't want to be rude and interrupt … whatever they were doing.

"It's fine," John said, opening the door wider. "It's just Sherlock that's busy."

Amy stepped in cautiously, seeing as they both seemed a little jolted by something. John hustled off to the kitchen as Amy took a seat in the lounger that was facing the kitchen.

"What?" John said. "Our guest is here."

"Fetch me my phone. It's in my coat pocket," Sherlock said, not taking his eyes off his microscope.

John dug into Sherlock's suit pocket and gave a face to Amy. She giggled. The hot water began to boil. Still, Sherlock didn't take a glance at her yet. John came over with two cups of tea to where she sat and took his usual place.

"Are you sure I'm not interrupting?" Amy asked after she sipped her tea.

"Yeah, I'm no use to Sherlock anyways," John assured her.

There was a moment of awkward silence between the two, "so what do you do for a living?"

"I'm a doctor. I work at a clinic." John said.

That surprised Amy completely, but the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. He was definitely a nice, caring fellow, who conveyed warmth of compassion to people. Something at the back of her mind tugged at the idea of familiarity, but she couldn't put the pieces together quite yet.

"How 'bout yourself," John replied.

"I'm sort of unemployed," she said.

"Sort of?"

"I'm trying to get some modeling jobs, but the market is tough."

"That doesn't make sense. Your proportions are slim, you have perfect face symmetry, and your height is consistent with other models," Sherlock piped up, not even looking away from his microscope. "There wouldn't be any reason why you're not getting jobs."

"Uh, thanks," she wasn't sure how to take that evaluation of her body type. She wondered how he even managed to get all that when he hadn't even looked at her the moment she walked in.

"Oh, um, Amy, that's Sherlock," John pointed. "Sherlock, this is Amy."

"I know," Amy and Sherlock said in perfect unison.

They also looked at each other in unison as well, giving John a confused expression on his face. Amy still couldn't tell what colour Sherlock's eyes were, but she did notice his figure with the slim fitting shirt. He was a handsome man, and she couldn't deny it.

"How do you …," John was interrupted before he could finish asking.

"I helped him out of the flat during the explosion," Amy started. "and …"

"She brought me to the ambulance to get me bandaged up," Sherlock finished her sentence.

There was a period of awkwardness between the two. John was slightly enjoying himself watching Sherlock interact with a woman in tandem. They weren't fighting at all, and it was kind of fun for John to watch. A woman he hasn't made angry! A few minutes later, Sherlock returned to his microscope and John returned to chatting with Amy. All was well until Sherlock had a sudden outburst.

"Poison! Clostridium botulinum! It's one of the deadliest poisons on the planet!" Sherlock slammed his table hard.

John rushed into the kitchen. Amy followed.

"Carl Powers!" Sherlock saw John's confused face.

"Wait, you're saying he was murdered?" John asked.

"Remember the shoe laces? The boy suffered from eczema. It would be the easiest thing in the world to introduce the poison into his medication. Two hours later, he comes up to London, the poison takes effect, paralyzes the muscles, and he drowns," Sherlock explained quickly. Amy managed to catch every word.

"What? H-how come the autopsy didn't pick that up?"

"It's virtually undetectable. Nobody would have been looking for it."

Sherlock quickly typed into his site that he found out how Carl died.

"There's still tiny traces of it left inside the trainers where he put cream on his feet," he pressed enter. "That's why they had to go."

"So how do we let the bomber know?"

"Get his attention. Stop the clock."

The phone rang. John and Sherlock tensed up. The lady on the phone, a hostage, was informing them that it was over.

"I'm sorry, but what do you do?" Amy asked when everything was done.

"Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective," he walked up to her and shook her hand.

With the force that he shook her hand, Amy could tell he was excited and jittery.

"And what does a consulting detective do?" Amy asked with a smirk.

"When the police are out of their range, which is nearly always, they come to me and I figure out their cases for them. I take cases that are interesting and deal with them in the matter that I can," he proudly stated.

"By observing and noticing," John added in, but regretted it soon.

"Take for example, you. Even though I didn't know your name before John proposed the idea of having tea with you, your accent is distinctive, and I knew it was you when you said a few words when you stepped in here a few moments ago. I remembered your appearance from last night and connected your name to your face. Also, you're from Leadworth going by the fact that your accent is slightly warped. You obviously don't mind anything dangerous or exciting because it's probably what you're use to. Why else would you come into an apartment that faced the explosion head on just to help a man you don't know? From the looks of it, you're unsure about your modeling career, and you haven't been in the workforce for a long time, which is why your confidence is a bit shaken and that's why you didn't get the job this morning. Why you moved here, I'm thinking after you've been divorced..."

"Divorced?! Excuse me?!"

"As I was saying, your ring finger. You've been travelling recently, which can explain the tan. This tan, even thought it is faint, you can see that was where your wedding ring was, there is a lighter mark. Maybe because you've been married a while now. Seeing as it's not very faded, it means you've been divorced recently. The fact that you're living by yourself in a flat big enough for one person justifies that."

John placed his hand on his face in frustration. Of course, Sherlock wouldn't change for anyone. He would always piss off someone with the words that came out of his mouth. John sighed and looked at Amy to see if she would storm off.

"Whoa there, let me get this into your head of yours. I am not divorced. You got everything else right except for that," Amy got close to him. Was she trying to size him up?

John looked surprised that a perfect stranger started defending herself. Usually they'd just swear at Sherlock and walk away, but Amy was standing her ground.

"Then how do you explain the missing ring? Where is your husband? Why are _you_ here?" Sherlock was adamant that he got at least that right – it was the most obvious one.

"It's complicated. You would never in a million years understand," Amy looked down for a moment, and then backed off. "Sorry, I have to go. Thanks for having me over for tea, John."

Amy left the flat as quickly as she could before John or Sherlock could start asking why. Usually, under regular circumstances, she'd back herself up, but this time she didn't want to explain her situation with time travelling, not that they would even believe her.

"Good going, Sherlock," John said to Sherlock.

"What did she mean by 'it's complicated' and that I'd never understand?" Sherlock asked John, who was now plopped on the sofa.

John had his hands covering his face, "it means she didn't want to talk about it."

"But I read her, as if she were an open book, John," Sherlock sat down on his seat, Amy's perfume was still lingering there. "Why did she find the thought of her being divorced so horrid?"

John sat up, "maybe because she isn't divorced?"

"But the signs are all there!" Sherlock raised his voice.

From 221c, she could hear Sherlock say that last sentence. She opened her jewelry box and pulled out her wedding ring.

"Idiot," She started to talk as if the Doctor were there. "If it wasn't for you, Doctor, I might not have gotten married to my best friend. But ever since you died, all I see in this diamond are the adventures we had. And it hurts. You kept the ring when he died and you helped me remember him. I love Rory, I do, but I don't need a ring to remind me of my love for him.

"I brought you back on my wedding day, why won't you come back now?" she sighed, tears forming in her eyes, and she put her wedding ring back.

She closed her eyes and pictured the Doctor. She knew her wish would never come true. But the picture of the Doctor in her mind was soon replaced by the consulting detective who was pacing around upstairs yelling at John about Amy.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

It only took Amy a few days to get settled in, and within that time, stranger things began to happen on 221 Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson told her that it's to be expected if she was to be Sherlock Holmes and John Watson's neighbor. She learned a little more of them day by day and eventually came upon Watson's blog. At first, she tried to keep herself from reading the entries, but being the vivacious Amy Pond, she couldn't resist reading the adventures.

She was shocked to realize that Sherlock and John nearly died just a few days before. John had a bomb strapped to his chest, and Sherlock faced his most menacing foe ever. Admittedly, Amy wanted to be a part of that. It had been weeks since they first encountered each other, and she tried her best to avoid Sherlock up till now.

"MRS. HUDSON!" Sherlock was yelling.

Mrs. Hudson didn't answer. Didn't she leave a while ago for the market?

"MRS. HUDSON!"

Amy walked out her flat and upstairs towards Sherlock's. It didn't seem like he was going to quit calling her. It wouldn't help to call John either since he'd left for New Zealand with Sarah, though from Amy's point of view, it didn't seem like the best idea. Amy opened the door without knocking and saw Sherlock lying lazily on the couch. He moved his head to get a better look at her.

"Where's Mrs. Hudson?" he asked, and then returned to his former position.

"Out," she said. "What do you need her for?"

"I need milk," he replied without a hint of emotion.

She scoffed, "and you can't get it yourself?"

"No, I'm busy," he closed his eyes and placed his hands together in a sort of praying motion, but Amy knew better.

"Busy doing what?"

"I'm working on a case," he opened his eyes and squinted them seeing as Amy wasn't going to leave.

"Really," Amy responded sarcastically.

"Yes, really," he rolled his eyes.

"Then who usually gets the milk when you're 'busy'?"

"John, but he's gone to New Zealand."

Amy stood there for a few seconds more with her arms crossed and then left his flat. She didn't know why, but she decided to get milk for him. Maybe it was to make amends for yelling at him a few nights ago. Coming back, she noticed Sherlock was still in the same position. Walking to the kitchen, she opened the fridge, which had a head in it. In a weird sense, she wasn't surprised, but it should have given her a fright. Considering all the blog entries she read and the Sherlock's site she skimmed through, she almost had to expect something like that to happen. Amy placed the milk in the fridge and closed the door, smiling empathetically at the head.

"I was right," Sherlock said quietly, but caught Amy's attention.

"Right about what?"

"That you're use to danger. And probably death. Are you sure you're just a model?"

Sherlock stood up quite quickly that caught Amy by surprise and faced her in order to read her expression.

"Yes, I'm a model. You got a problem with that?" Amy crossed her arms and a tone of hostility in her voice.

Sherlock's eyebrow arched up a little bit, telling Amy that he doubted her. Amy stood her ground, thinking she should probably tell a better lie, but she couldn't think of one that would satisfy him. He forced himself to let it go, seeing as she wouldn't disclose anything further. Sherlock would never be able to read in her face that she travelled through time and space.

Sherlock's phone rang and he picked it up. It was Lestrade. He finally had a case, but Amy didn't know this yet.

"What are you doing right now?" Sherlock asked.

Amy didn't have any jobs or casting calls, so she told him she didn't have anything to do. She kept herself busy with those modeling gigs, and it kept her mind off of the Doctor significantly.

"Come with me? I have a case and it'd be easier if I had an assistant."

It wasn't like she had anything better to do.

"Alright, let's go," she told him.

Sherlock took off his blue robe and placed it on his couch. He quickly went into his room to change, and Amy sat on the couch where the robe sat. She looked at it. She couldn't shake off the comparison of the TARDIS color to the robe.

"Ready?" Sherlock appeared out of nowhere, and Amy was apparently holding the robe.

"Uh, here," she thrust it towards him. Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "I need to grab my jacket."

Amy and Sherlock walked down the flight of stairs to Amy's flat and he went in. He was impressed at how fast she managed to make it look homey. Something stood out in his mind whilst Amy was grabbing her coat. He couldn't see her bedroom, but he knew that absolutely nothing in her flat was blue. All of her furniture, decorations, and even the tiny little beads on her embellished lamp had no shade of blue. What was her connection with that color? And why was she so delicately holding his robe earlier? He put those questions in the back of his mind when Amy appeared.

Sherlock hailed a cab and they both got in. For half of the ride, it was silent. But for Sherlock and Amy, silence only meant it was the prime time to think.

"Where are we going?" Amy asked.

"Crime scene."

"Okay."

Silence again.

"What's so unusual about this crime scene that they had to call you in?"

"From what Lestrade has told me, there is one dead body, two witnesses, and one possible murderer. The body is of a man in his eighties. Funny thing is that his wife is 25. His daughter from a previous marriage, the one witness, says she saw her mother in law – " he laughs. "Saw her mother in law standing over the body covered in blood holding a gun. But the suspect denies it completely. Gun was hidden in the drawer next to the body. Does not look like suicide. The body, it's just there, covered in blood."

Amy found it uncomfortable that he was laughing at such a matter. Someone has died, and he was giggling to himself. Maybe he found it funny that the stepdaughter and the wife were the same age, but still, it was not that funny. He cleared his throat when he noticed her discomfort at the matter. They arrived at the crime scene. Sally was there waiting for Sherlock to arrive.

"Hello Freak. Who's this? Where's John?" Sally asked a little derisively.

"Away. Amy, this is Sergeant Sally Donovan," Sherlock introduced Sally to her.

Sally gave her a look that was both sympathetic, and judging. She lifted the yellow tape up and called for Lestrade.

"Well, she was nice," Amy said sarcastically.

Leading them in, Lestrade showed the two the body lying on the ground. He informed them that the witnesses and accused were at Scotland Yard.

"We'll have to speak to them, of course," Sherlock told Lestrade, who nodded and told everyone to leave the room that the body was in.

Sherlock put his game face on, and Amy tried to do the same. She knew he was making his observations. Sherlock got down to the ground and touched everything. He got back up and looked at Amy.

"What do you think?"

"Me?" Amy asked. She thought he was going to start spilling his deductions. She didn't expect that he wanted her opinion.

He nodded. She sighed and took a look at the man.

"He's old. He's well off considering the Rolex and the house. Happily married going by the clean ring. No exact cause of death. Wait a minute," Sherlock perked up. "The blood. It's his. But where is it coming from? Sure, the gun's there, but there's no wound."

She checked the body more carefully this time, lifting him up a bit to check the underside, but there was nothing. There was no place on the body that was bloody. Amy grabbed a pen she had in her pocket. She looked at the man's face again. His lips looked scrubbed off. For a man of his age he had extremely smooth lips. That was odd to her. Carefully, she put the tip of the pen in the man's mouth and lifted up his lips. There was blood all over his gums. She stood up and looked at Sherlock proudly.

"That's definitely more than John."

She smiled widely, "So that's it."

"No, it was right in front of you."

Amy rolled her eyes. Sherlock crouched beneath the man's face again. He used the pen and lifted the gums up.

"He's wearing false teeth. I bet you whatever he uses to clean it have been poisoned. So much so that his body couldn't take it. His heart exploded and bled out."

"So we've found cause of death, but not who has done it."

"I have an idea."

But before Amy could ask 'who,' Sherlock was already out the door and hailing a cab. Sherlock didn't speak a word, but just played with his phone for the whole ride. When they arrived at Scotland Yard, Sherlock told Amy to just keep quiet as he talked. Amy was slightly peeved at his directions, but she followed through. Lestrade asked if Sherlock wanted to talk to the daughter in law, the wife, or the maid. Sherlock rolled his eyes and asked to see the daughter. He asked Lestrade for ten minutes.

Within those ten minutes, Sherlock solved the murder.

"Well the case is closed. This was too easy," Sherlock looked at his watch. "57 minutes."

"What?" she swallowed her coffee, "too easy?"

"You were there. The daughter did it. The maid was in on it too."

"But how did you know" Amy asked incredulously.

"The wife is rich, she doesn't need the money from the man. She is a cofounder of some company," Amy remembered Sherlock playing with his phone on the way to the Yard. She caught sight of her last name, but didn't make the connection at the time.

"Even under tremendous stress, she shows a lot of sadness that goes far beyond someone who is a killer. She doesn't express any guilt. She really loves the old man. Like you said, they had a happy marriage.

"The daughter on the other hand, had so much more to lose. She's in debt. She was living in the house, but her mother in law wanted her out of there. Did you not notice the labeled boxes of stuff in the living room? She needed the inheritance that's stated in the will, and by killing the man off and framing the wife, it'd ruin the wife's reputation besides sending her to jail, and make sure the daughter gets the money. The maid just wanted her share. The daughter wasn't good at hiding her expression the moment I told her I knew she did it. This was cake. Could have done it over the webcam. Hmm."

From that time on, Sherlock decided on using the webcam to solve cases if he needed to.

"Well, uh, good job," Amy didn't think that it would be this fast.

They got back to their flat, and the taxi ride was quiet. Amy didn't think that she'd be bored with Sherlock Holmes, but she was. Sure, he was spectacular at deducing things from stuff that people would brush off, but she expected chasing criminals, preventing murders, or finding serial killers. This was just a case about money. When was the real stuff going to happen?


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

It took Amy Pond a few cases with Sherlock to figure it out, but she realized she hadn't thought about the Doctor for a while. Maybe running around with Sherlock chasing criminals wasn't such a bad idea after all. The minute she hoped for action came true the second she stepped foot in Sherlock's flat the next day. There was a serial killer on the loose, and this one was smart. Just not smart enough to evade Sherlock. That case required more time, and experiments, which Amy was delighted to assist in.

Then another case came in. Something about a woman finding two different ears in a box. Then another. There were so many that months passed by before Amy Pond even thought about the Doctor. Sherlock was the new Doctor. The idea made Amy giggle, and Sherlock would always wonder why, but she would never tell him. When John came back from New Zealand, he felt as if he were put aside, but all he really had to do was get use to Amy's surprisingly intellectual presence. For some reason, Amy became very attached to John and they in turn got close. This allowed for an exchange of stories, but she would never reveal anything about time travel. One day, John asked her what happened in Leadworth that prompted her to move to London.

"Well, if you're thinking it's because I had a terrible divorce, it's not the reason," Amy got defensive thinking that Sherlock put the idea in John's head.

"No, I wasn't thinking that," he lowered his newspaper and tea.

"Good," Amy said, lifting up the newspaper she was reading.

"Well?" John wasn't the one to pry too much into people's personal lives, but he was very curious about this girl.

Amy put down her newspaper. They were only having a small brunch in the flat while Sherlock was asleep, so she couldn't hide from the subject. She had the option of not saying anything, but she felt like she could confide in John.

"You've been in a war, so you know how it feels when your friends die," Amy said without emotion.

"Was your friend in the war?"

"No. Not really. Not a typical war. But you know how it feels right?"

"Of course."

"I watched as my best friend got shot. And when I thought that there was still hope, just thinking that he'd somehow survive, it was ripped away from me. My heart broke into pieces," Amy was trying to hold it together, but she could feel the tears developing in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," John said.

Amy let the tears fall from her eyes, and John gave her a handkerchief, "Thanks. It was a while ago, but it hit hard."

"Knew him long, then?"

She smiled, "Sort of, yeah. I came here so I could forget about it."

In a way, she was relieved she could talk about it. It helped bring just an inkling of closure to a part of Amy. John didn't push any farther with the subject. Standing silently in his bedroom, Sherlock heard the whole thing. He processed the information as well as he could, seeing as he had no eyes on her body language, he could only deduce things from what he could hear. Sherlock knew she was being absolutely sincere, but he wasn't sure who she was talking about.

It took time, but Sherlock grew fond of Amy. They were becoming friends, and he could finally say that he had more than one true friend. He'd never find out about the Doctor, only that she missed someone dearly. Sherlock tried to deduce some information out of her about that someone, but it was nearly impossible. It was as if something just blocked the door in his mind.

She also met Sherlock's brother, Mycroft, and she understood the sibling rivalry between them. Like John, Mycroft brought her to a secluded location to warn her of what was to expect if she were to be partnered with Sherlock and John. But being that she went through much more with the Doctor, she wasn't afraid at all. She'd meet Mycroft many times when he'd offer Sherlock a case.

Cases piled up, and the trio got famous. People from all parts of the United Kingdom needed some sort of help from Sherlock Holmes, but he'd never take cases that were below a "7." One day, Amy came upon Sherlock wrapped in just a sheet talking to John through a webcam.

"New case?" Amy asked as she placed a cup of tea in front of Sherlock.

He didn't take his eyes off the screen, "Yes. Thank you for the tea."

"Not enough interest to get you into clothing, apparently," she laughed.

"It's a 6."

By now, Amy understood the lingo between John and Sherlock and how they decided which cases to take. Amy sat down beside Sherlock while he talked to John. She was getting herself acquainted with the case. She definitely agreed with John, though. Seemed more like an 8 to her. The doorbell rang.

"Should I get that?" Amy asked.

"No, it's fine. John, go closer," he instructed John.

Sherlock and the inspector began arguing over the supposed suspect, and Amy gave the man an empathetic look.

"Sherlock! You weren't answering your doorbell!" Mrs. Hudson said as she came up the stairs. "Oh, boys, here's Amy!"

Two men dressed in suits came up the staircase and into Sherlock's flat.

"His room's through the back. Get him some clothes," the man with the checkered tie told the other man.

"Who the hell are you?" Sherlock asked unamused.

"Sorry, Mr. Holmes, Ms. Pond," the man began closing the laptop.

"Sherlock, what's going on?" John asked from the other end.

Amy looked at John through the webcam and gave him a shrug.

"You're coming with us."

John lost connection with Sherlock. A police officer came up to him telling him that there was a helicopter waiting for him. What was going on? The man gave Sherlock some clothes, and Sherlock's eyebrows went up at what he chose. Mrs. Hudson stood there wondering what was happening, and Amy had her arms crossed at Sherlock's reluctance to leave. He was working on a case after all.

"Please, Mr. Holmes, where you're going you'll want to be dressed."

Sherlock turned around and looked at the man speaking to him. Amy saw that he was going to begin his deductions, so she thought she ought to try as well. What she got was that he worked indoors, but wasn't armed, yet he was well groomed, and there were pets – most likely dogs – where he worked. Taking a peek at the car outside, she had a rough idea where they were going to be taken, and she wasn't sure how she felt about it. Of course, Sherlock knew exactly where they were going. They were led into an area into Buckingham palace. Amy sat down beside Sherlock and they waited in silence.

"Are you sure you don't want to put your clothes on?" She teased him.

John popped up around the corner, saw Amy and Sherlock, and gave a shrug. He walked towards them and sat down beside Amy. John looked at Sherlock and then at Amy.

"Is he wearing any pants?" John asked.

"No," Amy was quick to respond.

"Okay."

All three of them looked at each other quickly and burst into laughter.

"At Buckingham Palace. Right," John looked around. "What are we doing here? Seriously, what?"

"I don't know."

"Here to see the queen?"

"I wonder if the she knows," Amy was looking at the doorways.

"Knows that we're here?" John asked.

"Knows that the great consulting detective Sherlock Holmes is sitting here, all but covered in a bed sheet," she smiled at Sherlock.

Sherlock tried to keep in his laughter, but he couldn't. John joined in.

"Ah, and here she comes."

They laughed a bit louder when Mycroft entered the room.

"Just once can you three behave like grownups?" Mycroft looked displeased with the trio.

"We solve crimes, I blog about it and he forgets his pants. Am I missing anything, Amy?" John answered.

"Nope, not at all," Amy was holding her hand to her mouth to keep herself from laughing.

Mycroft held up Sherlock's clothes and scoffed, "We are in Buckingham Palace, at the very heart of the British nation. Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on!"

"What for?"

"Your client."

Amy and John did a double take at both Mycroft and Sherlock. A man, Harry, came in and introduced himself. Sherlock was unimpressed that his client was anonymous. Harry turned towards Amy. Harry shook her hand.

"This must be Amy Pond, the so-called protégé of Sherlock Holmes, according to you," he turned to John "Dr. John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. My employer is a fan of your blog."

"Hello. Yes," they shook hands.

"Protégé?" Sherlock asked John.

"Yes, she may as well be. Don't you read my blog?" Amy smiled at the compliment. She felt good knowing that someone found her just as resourceful as Sherlock.

"Sometimes. No, not really. Mycroft, I don't do anonymous clients," Sherlock turned towards the doorway and began to walk away.

Mycroft stepped on the end of Sherlock's sheet, but he caught it in time so that he was not butt naked in Buckingham Palace, not that Amy minded. Cheeky.

"This is a matter of national importance. Grow up!" Mycroft scolded a half naked Sherlock.

"Get off my sheet!"

"Or what?"

"Or I'll just walk away," Amy smirked at Sherlock.

"I'll let you."

"Boys, please. Not here," John became the peacemaker again.

"Now for God's sake. Put your clothes on!" Mycroft was basically yelling at Sherlock.

Amy rolled her eyes and picked up Sherlock's clothes. She handed it to him and he walked away. When he came back, he saw that Amy and John were patiently waiting. Harry and Mycroft explained the situation, and at first, Sherlock was having none of it. Until he saw the pictures. There was also something about the way she looked and what her intentions were that peaked Sherlock's interest. He never dealt with a dominatrix who didn't want favor or money for the photographs. Actually, he had never dealt with a dominatrix before. Sherlock attempted to keep prying into who the photos were of. Amy was surprised – she never seen him give such a reaction before.

Being Sherlock, he extorted information about Harry's employer. Sherlock walked out on them. John stepped forward and Amy linked her arm with his.

"And that's as modest as he gets. Pleasure to meet you," John said to Harry.

"Mycroft," Amy smiled at him before leaving. "Always a pleasure."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The trio took a cab back to the flat. Sherlock boasted his stolen ash tray. Amy rolled her eyes. Back at the flat, Sherlock began changing into clothing. John and Amy stood there watching and giggled about what happened at the palace. When he was ready, Amy, Sherlock, and John stopped at a street and they got out into an alleyway.

"Punch me in the face," Sherlock told John.

Both John and Amy were surprised.

"Punch you?"

"Yes, punch me, in the face. Didn't you hear me?" Sherlock looked at Amy. "Amy? Would you care to do the honor?"

"It's definitely an honor, but I feel as if John should do it," Amy crossed her arms and smirked at the two. John hesitated.

"Oh for God's sake," Sherlock took a swing at John.

John recovered and lunged at Sherlock.

"Thank you, that was," John jumped Sherlock.

"Okay boys, come on," Amy tried to separate the two from killing each other, though it was amusing to her.

The plan was set. Sherlock and John were in. After a few minutes, John would let Amy in. He was carrying a bowl and a napkin. John walked into the room to see Sherlock and a naked Irene Adler. Amy didn't understand why John just stopped talking and she accidentally stepped into the picture.

"Oh!" Amy yelped.

"I've missed something, haven't I?" John was definitely confused.

Irene Adler gave a sly look at Amy Pond, "such a pretty face. I could just eat you up."

"Uh, thanks," Amy replied, unconsciously moving a little closer to Sherlock.

Irene sat down on her chair and Sherlock gave his deducting look, but for some reason, Sherlock couldn't read anything. Wind was passing through his brain. Unlike Sherlock, Amy could easily read her. Obvious attraction to Sherlock, otherwise she'd wear something. Irene was smart seeing as the only way to make Sherlock confused was to appear stark naked. But Amy knew her intentions. A woman always knows what another woman is thinking – usually. Sadly, for Sherlock, he would never pick this up.

"Could you put something on please?" John asked.

"Well turn your back if it embarrasses you!" Amy quipped.

"Ooh, feisty. I like her!" Irene smiled at Sherlock as he took his coat off for her.

Irene asked about the case about the hiker, and when she mentioned that brainy was the next sexy, Sherlock stuttered trying to explain, which made Amy giggle to herself. John just continued to stand there awkwardly until Irene accidently slipped some important information. John left the room with the intentions of fulfilling the plan. Sherlock began to explain the case to her and inadvertently, Amy as well.

"Noises can tell you everything," Sherlock's voice rang in her head as she pictured the scene.

Just with a fire alarm, Irene led Sherlock to the one thing that was of utmost value to her. Amy sat down with a smile on her face as Irene got up in surprise, seeing the victory about to occur. With the safe fully revealed, all Sherlock needed was a code.

"Hmm … should always use gloves with these things," Sherlock examined the key pad.

Amy tried to keep up with Sherlock's rambling. All she got was that it started with a three, had six digits, and didn't have an eight. Could have been anything …

"I'd tell you two the code right now, but you know what, I already have," when Irene said this, this made Amy stand up. "Think."

All of a sudden, men came bursting into the room holding John at gun point. Everyone but Sherlock got on the floor. The one man started to yell at Sherlock to enter the code, but Sherlock didn't know it. Seeing Sherlock's eyes, Amy knew he didn't know it. Not yet, anyway. All the while, Amy began to think.

'_Programmable safe. Starts with a three. Six digits. No eight. Birthday? Two, two and two. So they're paired together? How could Irene have told us? She didn't say anything with numbers. She didn't show us anything! Amy, think.' _

Her mind flashbacked to when she was getting her measurements taken at the casting call for the runway job.

"On the count of three, shoot Doctor Watson," Amy realized what was happening and noticed that her heart was racing.

Amy believed she knew what the code was, but was it right?

"1 …"

"I don't know the code," the sound of Sherlock's panicked voice made Amy nervous.

"2 …"

"She didn't tell me, I don't know it!" Sherlock yelled.

"3!"

"Stop!" Amy got everyone's attention. "Let me."

She gingerly walked over there with a gun to her head. She motioned for Sherlock to back away and he did so ever so cautiously. Amy put her hand up to the key pad. 32-24-34. Chest, waist, and hip measurements. Of course Irene Adler would. The dominatrix that must always be in perfect shape for her clients.

The sound of the safe unlocking made Sherlock and John breathe a sigh of relief.

"Now open it."

She turned the knob.

"Vatican cameos," Sherlock exclaimed, causing everyone to duck once Amy opened the safe.

In just a matter of seconds, all the henchmen were incapacitated. Sherlock stealthily grabbed the phone out of the safe and walked out the room.

"Thank you, you were very observant," Irene said to Amy.

"Observant?" John managed to get a word in.

"I'm flattered."

"Don't be. It's what models depend on," Amy causally explained.

"Should have guessed. A pretty young thing like you ought to be one."

Sherlock told Amy and John to check the rest of the house for any more surprises. It was only when Amy went back upstairs to the sound of yelling did she see Sherlock's body on the floor. Irene Adler already slipped out the window by the time Amy got down to see if Sherlock was alright.

"He should be fine," John told Amy. "The police are on their way anyways."

"What happened? Where's her phone?" Amy looked around.

John sighed, "She took it."

Amy shook her head. She had to hand it to Irene, she was smart. John and Amy agreed on carrying Sherlock downstairs so that it'd be easier for him to be 'transferred.'

"How did you know the code?" John grunted as he held onto Sherlock's top half of his body.

"It was her measurements," Amy explained as she gripped his legs.

"And you knew it exactly?" John was surprised at her accuracy.

"Yeah! I work in the modeling business. We get measured frequently," Amy said matter-of-factly.

"Blue, blue. Why blue?" Sherlock was mumbling.

"Let's set him down in the front room," John said.

As quickly as they did that, the police finally arrived. John told Lestrade everything and Amy went to tend to a mumbling Sherlock.

"Sherlock? It's Amy. Can you hear me?" she kneeled by his head.

"Why blue?" he mumbled.

"Sherlock? What are you talking about?" Amy questioned, but couldn't get a response. She knew what he was talking about, and wanted to know if Sherlock was trying to break down her walls that she tried so desperately to keep up.

John wondered what the colour blue had to do with the case. It didn't seem to have any significance, but that is what Sherlock kept asking, even as he was being driven back to Baker Street. They put Sherlock back in his bed. As the hours went by, John went out to get some food and asked for Amy to look after him if he woke.

Amy silently went into his room. She looked around and noticed how different the man's room was. For such an extraordinary and complex mind, he didn't have much stuff compared to the outside. And it was neat! No clutter whatsoever. Amy looked at her reflection in his tiny oval mirror and noticed a periodic table hanging in the background.

"Really, Sherlock?"

She laughed and something in the corner of her eye made her turn. It was Sherlock's coat – the one Irene was wearing previously. Irene was here. She must have been. Amy scanned the room again. The window was opened. Amy looked at Sherlock. Sleeping soundlessly – the only time when he wasn't doing any deducing of any sort.

"You silly, silly man."

She lowered her head and whispered in his ear.

"It's TARDIS blue, actually."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Irene was silent. Besides the texts that Sherlock would occasionally get, but not reply to, Irene was nowhere to be found. Sure, Mycroft had her under surveillance, but that didn't help seeing as Mycroft basically banished Sherlock from that case. In Amy's eyes, it was clearly taking a toll on him. Month by month he'd slowly get gloomier and gloomier. Even Amy and Sherlock's greeting – a double kiss (Amy's idea to make him more human and just sociable) – started to disappear. By December, his gloominess was gone and replaced by being grumpy.

Within those short months, Amy saw less and less of Sherlock and John as her time was being taken up by a surprising number of modelling jobs. She managed to snag a few runway gigs for London fashion week which in turn, spurned even more jobs. Finally, the holidays arrived and it gave time for Amy to rest. John and Sherlock were having a Christmas party and she was obviously invited. She invited Rory, but seeing as he would see her during the New Year, he thought that she should save the trip and he would spend time with his parents.

Amy Pond just got home from one of the longest photo shoots of her life. She was very exhausted, but that didn't stop her from getting ready for Sherlock and John's party. Even from her basement room she could hear Sherlock playing Christmas songs on the violin.

"What to wear?" she was looking through the outfits in her closet.

She felt festive, so she pulled out her loose red jumper, but she didn't have a green skirt. A black one would work. She put it on and looked in the mirror. She frowned. It was the exact same outfit she wore when the Doctor, River, and she fought the Weeping Angels. She pulled off her jumper and skirt and put on a dress. Walking towards her vanity, she freshened up her makeup. It was hard not to think of the Doctor after wearing that outfit. Shaking that memory out of her head, she walked up the stairs and to the boys' flat.

"Oh, hello, Amy!" John got up and greeted her.

"Hello, John," she hugged him. "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas to you too!"

"Mrs. Hudson, Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas to you too, darling."

Sherlock stood up seeing that Amy was saying hi to everyone. If he didn't, she would wait and eventually call him out.

"Sherlock," she gave him a double kiss. "How are you doing?"

"Great," he replied sarcastically. "I love having parties."

"Oi, don't get snippy on Christmas," she playfully scolded him.

Sherlock returned to his place by the computer.

"Oh, Amy, I don't believe you have met Jeanette," John introduced the two.

'_Not going to last'_ Amy thought to herself, but she politely smiled and said hi.

Amy walked towards Molly, "Hi, Molly."

"Hello," Molly was a tad shy to Amy, even in the dress she was in. "How are you?"

"Great, yeah, been busy with modelling jobs. You?"

"You know, people dying, so I'm busy too," she said a little awkwardly.

Amy politely smiled and laughed but briefly looked at her. It was hard not to make an observation considering what Molly was wearing. Compared to her personality, she certainly wanted to make an impression on Sherlock. Amy met Molly on a few occasions when Sherlock wanted Amy to come with him and John to the morgue. Even from their first meeting, Amy could instantly see that Molly had a crush on Sherlock. The way she acted around John and Sherlock was just so distinct. Obviously the attraction would never be returned, but it was nice to hope. Amy could see why Molly was interested in Sherlock. He was tall, handsome, a genius, but incredibly cold and very mechanical. Molly, though, was quiet and awkward and really not a good personality fit for Sherlock. Though, the more Amy thought about it the more she wondered if Sherlock has had any romantic feelings for anyone.

"'Ello Amy," Lestrade smiled at her.

"Hello Detective Inspector," she laughed.

"Ah, call me Greg! Off duty," he raised his glass. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Yeah, sure!"

Molly was sort of staring at Sherlock beyond Amy's shoulder, with some sort of hope that he'd acknowledge her as he did with Amy. That was another thing that Amy noticed: that slight pang of jealousy that Molly had for Amy. Amy tagged along and essentially became an integral part in helping solve crimes and Molly was jealous.

Lestrade came back with Amy's wine and handed it to her. Amy heard Sherlock stop scrolling and turned to look at him. She looked at him and saw his face. She sighed. She knew what was coming. He was grumpy, and that meant something mean was about to spout out of his mouth.

"So you've got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you're serious about him," Sherlock turned away from the screen after momentary chatter between everyone.

"Sorry, what?"

"And you're seeing him this very night, and you're giving him a gift!"

"Take a day off," John scolded as Amy rolled her eyes.

Amy leaned on the table, "Sherlock. Stop."

"Come on, surely you've all seen the present at the top of the bag, perfectly wrapped with a bow. Must be someone special there."

"Sherlock," Amy looked him directly in his eyes. "Stop."

"The shade of red echoes the lipstick, either an unconscious association or one that she's deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Ms. Hooper has love on her mind…" Sherlock kept rambling on until he looked at the tag.

In his mind, Sherlock should have listened to Amy.

"You always say such horrible things," Molly was humiliated. "Every time. Always, always."

"I am sorry. Forgive me," Sherlock saw from his peripheral that John did a double take.

Sherlock gave a peck on Molly's cheek, "Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper."

A loud moan came from Sherlock's direction, but John and Amy knew what it was and weren't surprised.

"57?" John looked at Amy for confirmation.

"Yep, 57," she took a sip from her wine.

Sherlock walked to the mantelpiece and retrieved a red present – as red as the lipstick on Irene Adler's lips.

"Excuse me."

A few minutes after he left to his room, Amy followed. John followed her. She opened the door slightly and heard just a bit of the conversation. Irene Adler was dead.

"Amy, come with me. John. Stay here and entertain the guests," Sherlock instructed as he exited his room with his coat. "Molly, do you know anyone at the morgue at this time?"

"I can ... I'll ... I'm sorry, why?"

"I need to see a body. It's urgent," he was monotone.

"Alright, fine. Any specific body?"

"Female, long dark brown to black hair, Caucasian, in her thirties, most likely deceased within the past week. She'll probably have been brought in," Sherlock described.

"Okay. If you want to be there in thirty minutes," Sherlock left without her finishing.

Amy followed and grabbed her coat before they caught a cab. They stopped at Mycroft's and then took another car to St. Bart's. It was a silent ride as neither of the brothers wanted to talk, and she could feel a sort of emotional pain that Sherlock was feeling. She knew he liked her – whether it was emotional, physical, or intellectual she couldn't tell – and he was feeling something with the knowledge of her death. They arrived at the morgue right on time and Molly was there.

"You didn't need to come in Molly," Sherlock said.

"That's okay. Everyone else was busy with ... Christmas. The ... face is a bit sort of bashed up, so it, uh, might be a bit difficult," Molly said.

Molly pulled back the white sheet. She was right, the face was unrecognizable. It almost made Amy a bit nauseated seeing the mutilation so close up.

"That's her isn't it?" Mycroft asked.

"Show me the rest of her."

Amy could see that those were the right measurements, and Sherlock looked at her for confirmation. She nodded. She felt sad for him.

"That's her," Sherlock said as he walked off.

"Thank you, Ms. Hooper."

Before covering the body, though, Amy took one last look. There was something a bit off with the body. Only the face was horribly mutilated, everything else was more or less okay. If Irene was tortured, why just stick to the face? Amy noticed even more discrepancies of the body that made her question if that was Irene she was staring at. The hair thickness was different, the cut was shorter, and something about her height was a bit off. The one thing that confirmed it all was the shape of her nails. This woman's cuticles were horribly uncared for, and the nail bed was just a bit shorter and rounder than Irene's. This couldn't have been Irene Adler. Sherlock could not have missed this. Was he playing a game?

"Who is she? How did Sherlock recognize her from ... not her face?" Molly asked, to which Mycroft could only smile – even Mycroft didn't know.

"Good night, Molly," Amy gave her a sympathetic smile. "Have a good holiday."

"Merry Christmas," she replied a little sadly.

Molly smiled and Amy left. She couldn't help but feel bad for Molly. She was a loner, and Amy understood that. Sherlock and Mycroft stood waiting right by the doors. Sherlock was smoking – that was a bad sign. Amy questioned if Sherlock thought she was really dead or if he was still playing a game. Once Sherlock saw that Amy was there, he said his good bye to his brother and left.

"Merry Christmas, Amy."

"Merry Christmas to you too, Mycroft."

"Take care of him, will you?"

Amy nodded and went after Sherlock. He was just standing outside waiting for a cab. It was just lightly snowing outside which made the night just a tad cold. Sherlock was always prepared with his coat and scarf, but Amy's bare legs were facing the consequences.

Maybe it was the cold getting to her, but she thought she heard a familiar sound just around the corner. She left Sherlock waiting without a word and jogged to see if it was true. Sadly, the blue box wasn't there, and there was no sign of the Doctor besides a man walking down the street in a long trench coat and Converse sneakers. It was definitely the cold making her hear things.

"Amy!" Sherlock called, signalling that the taxi was there.

Sherlock threw the cigarette butt onto the road. They both got in, and once they were about halfway to the flat, Amy began to start a conversation with the hopes of find out why he told Mycroft that the body on the slab of metal was Irene.

"Did Irene give you any indication of where she was before she, you know, sent you that last text?" Amy started off with that, hoping that he would catch on.

"No."

"Anything about who she was with?" she pressed on.

"No."

"What about ...," Sherlock stopped her.

"If you don't mind, I would rather not talk about her," Sherlock kept his eyes looking out the window.

Amy wasn't sure. Should she tell him? But it was Sherlock Holmes! The great consulting detective! How could he not know? Were his deducting and observation skills so shrouded by his emotional and intellectual attachment to her that he just couldn't see it?


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Christmas was officially over but Amy had no chance of telling Sherlock that Irene was alive. She had to pack for her short trip back to Leadworth. With all those preparations set, she went back up to 221B to give John and Sherlock a lovely farewell before she caught her cab. John was just getting ready to head out, and Sherlock was playing his violin.

"So you'll be gone for the week?" John asked.

"Yep. Going to spend the new year with my parents, husband and ...," Amy stopped herself there before she could say the word 'daughter.' That wouldn't have been fun to explain.

Amy realized then that she still hadn't revealed any details of her travels with the Doctor, and it seemed as if none of them knew. She wasn't even sure if Sherlock could figure that out. Nevertheless, his mind was still clouded. London helped to blur some of the memories of the Doctor and the adventures, but it was only temporary, of course, as she could never escape the memories of him, but everything that happened after moving to London made Amy happy of where she was in life.

Thinking of Sherlock, though, was a different story. He could not move on thinking that Irene was dead, and Amy was right – it was something that was clouding his thoughts from seeing the tiniest details on the dead body. The DNA results came in, but she knew they were faked. DNA cannot replace the shapes of fingernails. Ever since he got her phone – and that text – he settled with the idea that she was dead and did not welcome any new ideas. He would play out Amy's voice with his violin at the mention of Irene's name.

"Well I hope you have a lovely trip, and say hello to Rory for me," John said. "I am just going to go out for a bit, so I suppose I can walk you downstairs."

"Yeah, that'd be nice!" Amy replied excitedly. "Sherlock."

He didn't move from his spot.

"See you soon," she said to his back.

John walked over to Mrs. Hudson and silently talked to her. Amy stood staring at his back, just a bit off his peripheral. He noticed her, of course.

"Listen. Has he ever had any kind of girlfriend, boyfriend, a relationship? Ever?" John said as silently as possible, but Amy and Sherlock could hear.

"I don't know," Mrs. Hudson kept her voice quiet.

"How can we not know?"

Amy looked at the two and then back at Sherlock. The man who thinks he doesn't show emotion, who thinks he can keep his composure after all that has happened to him from God knows how long, is being read like an open book by Amy. He can't hide from her, and even he knows it.

"He's Sherlock. How will we ever know what goes on in that funny old head?"

Amy smiled. Sherlock turned his head just a bit to see it.

"Alright, come on Amy," John called for her.

"Take care of yourself, Sherlock," Amy placed her hand on his shoulder and left.

John and Amy went down the stairs and out the flat. The smell of something familiar hit Amy, but she ignored it as she saw the cab already waiting for her. As she made it to the other side of the street, she heard John's name being called out. Looking from inside her taxi, she noticed the woman in black talking to John. A little out of the ordinary. But then she noticed the black car pulling up. Amy looked back at the woman standing by John. It was perfume that she smelled walking out the flat. Amy looked back and tried to remember the smell. Her memory flashed back to just a few weeks before at a photo shoot. The makeup artist sprayed her with it, but it was the oddly shaped bottle encrusted in gold that made her remember. At that moment, Amy remembered that there was a tray of perfume sitting on Irene Adler's vanity and there was one particular bottle of perfume sitting right in front. That woman was working for Ms. Adler.

Quickly, Amy scrambled to look for her phone. It was in one of her bags, but she didn't know which one! When she finally found it, she dialed John's number as quickly as she could.

"Pick up, pick up, pick up!" she muttered under her breath.

Of course, John's phone was on silent.

"JOHN!" She yelled, catching the cabbie's attention and making him stop the car.

"Oh, sorry! Keep going," Amy said.

"Yes, ma'am," the cab driver replied.

Frustrated with her phone, she tried dialing Sherlock, but he was no use either. He was probably sulking in the corner of his flat. Amy looked out the window and noticed she was halfway to the station. No point in going back now. They were on their own. What exactly would happen, she wouldn't know. All she knew was that Irene was going to reveal herself.

Just moments before Amy, Sherlock saw the car, the woman, and John, and noticed something was off. This was not Mycroft. Obviously his curious nature got the better of him and he followed John. Taking a cab, he managed to follow them without suspicion. Not even as he stopped at Battersea Power Station did his presence alert anyone. He could see John in certain areas of the power station and the woman that lead him there. Sherlock took a different route but ended up in the same area nonetheless. He could hear John speak.

"I'd say he was heartbroken, but, er, well, he's Sherlock. He does all that anyway ...," John abruptly stopped when he saw Irene emerged.

This came as a shock to John. Even though he didn't personally see the body, and even though he never really asked a lot of questions, Sherlock's drastic change in personality made him believe she was dead. He realized now that he didn't even question it at all. Sherlock couldn't see what was happening, of course, but he knew something was up.

"Hello Doctor Watson," her voice lacked the sultry smooth tone. She meant business.

"Tell him you're alive."

"He'd come after me."

At the first sound of her voice, a sort of shock hit him. He tried to force himself to realize what was going on and to not let his mind wander. Sherlock began to walk away. Even though he knew she was alive now, it didn't change the fact that she didn't want him to know.

"Look, I made a mistake," that caught Sherlock's attention, and he quietly walked back to his spot. "I sent something to Sherlock for safe keeping and now I need it back, so I need your help."

The phone. Sherlock thought about where he last put it. A sort of daze was creeping towards him. It was blocking his thought process. And now his hearing was going out. It was only when he heard John speak in such a surprised tone that got Sherlock listening.

"You ... flirted with Sherlock Holmes?"

"At him. He never replies."

This conversation was going nowhere. His mind flashed back to the body on the slab in the hospital. He realized now that he wasn't sure if it was her after all. All those times Amy tried to get his attention, and he didn't even bother to give her a chance. Sherlock assumed that when Amy said Irene wasn't dead, she meant that she wasn't dead in his mind or heart or something clichéd.

"There. 'I'm not dead. Let's have dinner,'" Irene said to John.

The sound of Sherlock's text alert caught his attention. He put his phone away and left. That was all he needed to see. Now the shock started to hit him so much so that his focus and concentration was muddled. He couldn't remember how he got back to his flat, but he did. Did John or Irene chase after him? He didn't know. When he got to his door, however, something odd snapped him back into reality. Opened door, cleaning supplies, scuffs – something was wrong. Anger.

In just a few seconds, he assessed the situation and immediately took out the American. Admittedly, a lot of his anger and confusion was directed towards him, and not towards the actual situation – IRENE WAS ALIVE. As emotionless as he was, he couldn't believe that he felt something knowing she wasn't dead. He couldn't tell if he did have feelings for her or if it was just that he met his match. It took a little while, and a little note on the door, to get John's attention. By the time Lestrade got to 221b, it was night time.

In Leadworth, Amy finally arrived. She had no clue what was going on in London and she was incredibly worried. Sherlock, John, and Mrs. Hudson were like her third family (her first being her parents and Rory, the second being the Doctor and River). No one was picking up their phones and that was frustrating her.

At the bus stop, she caught sight of Rory. She ran into his arms and gave him a kiss.

"Oh God, I've missed you," Rory said as they continued to hug.

She let go and looked at him and got into Rory's car. She looked around as they drove to her house. She saw the duck pond with no ducks. She saw the telephone booth the Doctor destroyed that one time when Prisoner Zero appeared. All those memories flooded back into her brain, but before she could feel stressed, her phone beeped.

_We're fine. – SH_

She rolled her eyes and dialed his number. Finally, he picked up.

"You know I don't like to talk. Texting is much more convenient," Sherlock said over the phone.

"Not if you don't answer them. What the hell was going on? Why weren't you answering my texts or calls?" she asked.

"Is that Amy?" Amy could hear John. "Put her on speaker."

She could hear Sherlock fiddling with the phone and placing it on the table.

"Amy! Hello! How's Leadworth?" John asked excitedly before taking a sip of his drink.

"Great! Now put down your scotch and tell me what happened," Amy smirked at her confused husband.

"How did you know …?" John put his scotch down.

"John, we've been neighbours for how long? Now. You got in that car thinking it was probably Mycroft when it was really Irene. What happened after that?" Amy started.

"Are you psychic or something?" John was still confused.

"For God's sake, John. Yes, Amy. You were right …," Sherlock began but Amy interrupted.

"Wait, hold on there, Sherlock. Say those words again?" Amy said.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "You were right. She's alive."

"Told you so. Didn't I tell him?" Amy looked at Rory, who just shrugged and shook his head. "Anyways?"

"Anyways. I came back to the flat, found Mrs. Hudson was attacked, and took care of the attacker, who was the American."

Amy knew he skipped Irene for a reason, but decided not to push the thought any further. Over the phone, she could hear the bells in London toiling. She looked at the clock in Rory's car. It was midnight.

"Happy New Year boys," Amy said with a smile and she looked at Rory.

"Happy New Year, Amy," Sherlock said back, and after a sip of scotch, John said it too.

Amy hung up the phone as they arrived at her childhood home. She walked hand in hand with Rory, taking a moment to look back at where the Doctor first crash landed into her yard. Sherlock took his violin and started playing while John took to his laptop and scotch. All of them truly hoped for a happy new year.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"Sherlock?" she knocked on the door. "John?"

"Amy?" John popped his head from the kitchen. "Amy!"

Amy and John embraced in a nice friendly hug as Rory watched from the entrance.

"John, I'd like you to meet my husband, Rory," Amy introduced. "This is John. I convinced him to take a trip here."

"Heard a lot about you," Rory smiled as they shook hands.

"Thanks," John smiled politely, though he couldn't say the same for Rory.

"Amy, I'm going to put your stuff in your flat, I'll be right back up," Rory said as he walked out the door.

"So where's Sherlock?" Amy asked John as she followed him into the kitchen.

"He's gone. I don't know where. He never tells me anything," John replied, taking his coffee to his seat and sitting down. Amy sat in front of him.

"What do you mean he's gone? What happened?" Amy was now slightly worried.

John told her the story, and in the middle of it, Rory came back and sat down and listened. Albeit he was confused, but managed to catch parts of the story.

"He cracked the code? So where is she now?" Amy asked.

"I have no idea. Running. Hiding. Definitely not in London, that's for sure."

Amy pulled out her phone and texted Sherlock.

"No use in doing that, he hasn't answered my texts or calls. He's fine," John said. "Sorry, Rory, can I get you a cup of tea? Coffee?"

"Uh, yeah, sure, coffee's fine," Rory perked up.

_Where are you? – Amy. _

She put her phone away and looked around the room. Same old mess, but something in that mess was slightly different. The drawer where Sherlock typically kept his identification was slightly opened. Enough for Amy to see it, but not enough for John to realize that there was anything amiss. She looked through the drawer to find his passport gone. His gun was still there though, which meant he must have traveled by plane.

"John? Did he use your laptop within the last few days?" she asked as John was chatting with Rory.

"Uh, yep!"

Quickly, Amy checked the internet history. If she was right, then she would assume Sherlock was too much in a rush to clear the browser history. Scrolling through, she found a site belonging to a particular airline. She opened the window. _Book flights to Karachi._

"Karachi?" she said silently to herself.

The sound of Rory bursting into laughter caught Amy by surprise and she accidentally erased the internet history.

"What's so funny?" Amy asked.

"Oh, nothing," Rory said. "You never told me that he was a doctor!"

John and Rory continued talking as Amy sort of stared at the two. Weirdly, she realized why she felt so comfortable around John. Watching the two, she realized how similar they both were. Both were medically trained, both were super compassionate, they both served in battle (Rory in more different ways than John), and both managed to put up with Amy and Sherlock. For her, it was odd watching the two interact so, in a word, nicely. After their little get together, Amy and Rory walked down the stairs to Amy's flat.

"You didn't tell him about the Doctor, did you?" Rory asked as they both sat down on her couch and got closer together.

"Nope."

"Not one mention of him? The TARDIS?"

"Nope."

"Are you ever going to tell them?" Rory asked again.

Amy didn't answer. She wasn't sure if she could tell them, never mind if she wanted to. How could she possibly explain anything like that to the two of them? Mr. Logical would tear her apart with his scientific books and knowledge of the world.

"So what do you want to do?" Amy asked her husband.

"Oh, before we do anything, your mother gave me this to give to you," Rory grabbed his suitcase and pulled out a blue blouse.

"Cute," Amy placed it on her table and soon forgot about it when Rory gave her a kiss.

Upstairs, John was enjoying the quiet. It was strange not having Sherlock prance around the flat doing God knows what with his experiments or badgering him about his blog. It was pleasant. Still, it would have been nicer if John knew where Sherlock was. John knew that Sherlock liked to get himself in dangerous and strange situations, and he'd at least like to know what was happening. He could have been facing Moriarty, and John was drinking coffee. With that thought, John pulled out his phone and dialed Sherlock's number. It kept ringing, but Sherlock didn't pick up. Now John was getting even more worried. If it was Moriarty on the other end, that could have meant Sherlock was dead. All of a sudden, John's phone beeped.

_I'm fine. You're even worse than Amy. – SH._

With that, John breathed a sigh of relief. His friend was safe and there really wasn't anything to worry about. John turned on the telly and began to sink into the fact that he was alone and peaceful in his flat.

_A few days later..._

"Goodbye Rory, it was nice to meet you," John shook hands with Rory.

"Yeah, it was nice meeting you too," Rory was genuinely pleased to have met John. They had a lot of common, so all awkward moments were averted. "If you're ever in Leadworth, come and find us!"

John laughed, "Absolutely!"

Amy walked with Rory down the stairs and out the flat where he was carrying his bag in one hand and holding Amy's hand in the other. The cab was already waiting for Rory. He put his stuff in the trunk.

"It's too bad you couldn't meet Sherlock," Amy said apologetically. "I really have no idea how long he's going to be away."

"That's fine. I'm sure I'll meet him soon," Rory smiled. "So when will you be coming back to Leadworth?"

"I don't know, I really like it here. Maybe when the jobs run out I'll come back," Amy smiled politely at him. Truthfully, she didn't want to leave.

Amy kissed her husband goodbye as he got into the cab and drove off. She started to walk back to the door when all of a sudden, John walked out the door. He was holding his phone in his hand and there was still a text conversation open, but his hand was obscuring the sender.

"What?" she asked.

"Sherlock's coming, now, apparently," John shrugged. "You know him. Unpredictable."

They saw a taxi turning around the corner and it pulled up to them. Out stepped Sherlock, looking as if he had never left. Without so much as a hello, he got his bags and went up the stairs to his flat and slept. John and Amy gave each other a quizzical look, and went about their business as usual.

Months passed after his arrival back in London. Sherlock never once talked about where he went, and even though Amy knew, she kept it to herself. With the days passing came few cases. Most of them were interesting and worked on by the trio, but nothing could compare to when Mycroft showed up in the flesh to talk to John. Coming out of the washroom, she could see the two from the window. She thought it was a little suspicious that Mycroft was meeting John in person, so she ducked back behind the wall.

"He'll be okay with this. Witness protection, never seeing her again. He'll be fine," John told Mycroft.

"I agree. That's why I decided to tell him that," Mycroft responded with a sort of tone that suggested defeat.

"Instead of what?"

"She's dead. She was captured by a terrorist cell in Karachi two months ago and beheaded," John questioned the identity, but Mycroft continued. "I was thorough this time. It would take Sherlock Holmes to fool me. And I don't think he was on hand, do you? So what should we tell Sherlock?"

'_Oh Mycroft,'_ thought Amy and she smiled.

John and Mycroft got up, but she stood still. Mycroft got into a car and left and she watched as John, with the phone and file in his hands, went into the flat. After a few minutes, she left. With perfect timing, she managed to run into John as he was going down the stairs. Something was missing, though, and as John explained, she saw that the phone was gone, but she didn't mention it.

Sherlock could hear that Amy was talking to John about what he was holding. He drowned out their voices and concentrated on his phone. He scrolled through the messages sent by Her. Sherlock walked to the window and reminisced. He chuckled.

"The Woman," he opened his drawer to put her phone in. "_The _Woman."

"The Woman you saved," Amy was leaning with one shoulder in the entry way.

"I didn't hear you come in," Sherlock turned around quickly.

"Of course you didn't. You were too busy thinking about the wonderful time you had in Karachi," she said the last part sarcastically.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, "how do you know about this?"

"Internet history, missing passport, disappearance right after you gave the phone to Mycroft, and you left your gun," Amy smirked. "How was the flight?"

"Long," Sherlock walked back to his microscope and turned around, "How long have you known?"

"A couple of months," now she was looking out the window.

"Does John know?"

"Nope. And apparently, neither does Mycroft. I don't know how you managed to fool him, but everyone thinks that Irene is dead."

"Good. Let them think that," he looked into his microscope.

"You kept her phone," Amy pointed out the obvious as she reached for it in the drawer.

He didn't respond, nor did he look up. It was one of those times where he didn't want to discuss it, and usually Amy would just let it be, but this was just too much fun for her.

"Mycroft was wrong, then," Amy smiled and put the phone away.

Now Sherlock looked up. The fact that the words "Mycroft" and "wrong" were put together in a sentence made Sherlock attentive. Amy knew he looked up and faced him.

"Caring is an advantage," Amy smiled and left.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

_Amy Pond: the girl with the heart of Watson, but the brain of Sherlock. Are you ready to play? -?_

Amy woke up to that text in the middle of the night. She absentmindedly looked at it without any concern in her mind whatsoever and went back to sleep. It would be the only time she would ever hear from Jim Moriarty, but not realize it. Without a response, Moriarty was bored with her, but just turned his attention back to the one and only Sherlock. Plans were being made, threats were being used, and time was on his side. Jim knew he was smart – smarter than Sherlock, of course – but it didn't mean anything until the game begins.

Why didn't Amy see anything curiously suspicious about the text? It was only because she was exhausted from the day before. She spent all day juggling modelling, meeting up with Lestrade to go over some police reports that Sherlock was supposed to do, and then finding that the John needed her to aid in their long running case: to keep Sherlock entertained. It was only a few days since the time when Sherlock got Irene's phone back. But those days were brutally boring for Sherlock. He finished up one case and moved on hoping for another, but the well was dry.

Amy was just getting back from doing groceries and just sat down on her couch when she heard a loud noise. Popping her head out of her flat, she managed to make the noise out clearer.

"AMY! AMY!" Sherlock was yelling.

"WHAT?!" She yelled back.

"GET UP HERE!"

She walked up the stairs slowly and opened the door. Sherlock and John were facing this man sitting opposite of them.

"Uh, hello," Amy said.

"This is Henry Knight," John introduced the two. "He has a case for us."

Amy smiled and leaned on the table beside John. Henry played the clip he brought. Sherlock asked for a personal explanation, but was even ruder than usual. Even Amy knew that his twittering fingers needed a case. Perhaps it was the lack of nicotine that made him jittery, but both in combination made for an insanely grumpy Sherlock.

"Did you see the devil that night?" Amy caught her mind wandering as John asked the question to Henry.

She and Sherlock saw the reaction to the question – this was an obvious yes.

"It was huge. Coal black fur with red eyes," Henry tried to say.

Clearly, it was difficult for Henry to recollect those memories, and it didn't help that Sherlock didn't really care.

"Dog? Wolf?" John asked.

Amy's mind really was elsewhere and she didn't understand why she couldn't concentrate.

"My dad was always going on about the things they were doing at Baskerville. About the type of monsters they were breeding there."

At the word monsters, Amy perked up. Sherlock and John didn't notice since she was behind their peripheral. The mere mention of "monsters" brought Amy back to her memories of the Doctor – but it didn't hurt. Remembering the memories of her past didn't hurt Amy emotionally anymore. She was questioning if she truly moved on. She thought of the Weeping Angels, the Daleks, even Prisoner Zero. All monsters, all essentially defeated at one point or another. She was excited at the prospect of a monster. Amy was still enraptured in her thoughts until Sherlock got up and headed for the kitchen.

"Mr. Holmes. They were the footprints of a gigantic hound!"

Sherlock stopped abruptly and turned, "Say that again."

"I found the footprints, they were ..."

"No, no, no, your exact words. Repeat your exact words from a moment ago, exactly as you said them."

Slowly, Henry repeated himself, "Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound."

"I'll take the case," Sherlock said confidently.

Startled, John replied, "Sorry, what?"

Sherlock began pacing the floor, "Thank you for bringing this to my attention. It's very promising."

"No, no, no. Sorry, what? A minute ago, footprints were boring. Now they're very promising?"

Amy always enjoyed watching as John tried to understand something that Sherlock said. It wasn't that John was operating at a lower brain function, it was that Sherlock never really explained in a way that was comprehensible to everyone until _after_ the case was over.

"It's nothing to do with footprints. As ever, John, you weren't listening," Sherlock looked at John.

Amy wasn't really either, so she took a moment to think. She asked Henry to repeat his last sentence. He never really needs any repeating unless he had to. Now what was so special? _"Mr. Holmes. They were the footprints of a gigantic hound!" _

Hound. Why hound? Why not dog? Or wolf? Amy walked over to the bookshelf as Sherlock was talking and searched up the word "hound" in the Oxford English dictionary. Nobody really noticed her, as Sherlock was making a scene of himself, so she managed to look the word up without any distraction.

_Hound – (noun) 1: one of any several breeds of dogs trained to pursue game, either by sight or by scent, especially one with a long face and large drooping ears. 2: A mean, despicable person. (verb) 1: to pursue or harass without respite._

If he was thinking of a dog, why didn't he just say so? Amy thought of the hounds she knew. Blood Hounds were the first to come to mind, but they didn't seem like the type to fit a devil's description. Maybe it was really an alien. No, it couldn't be. Isolated event, not wanting to take over Earth or the universe, and in twenty years it's been sitting there? Couldn't have been an alien. Figment of imagination seemed likely, but then again, the second definition could have meant something ...

"Always rely on John to send me the relevant data, and as he never understands a word of it himself, Amy will go along with him. She gets it," Sherlock got Amy's attention.

"Sorry, what?" Amy looked at all three. "What's happening?"

"Oh, sorry, no, you're not coming, then?" Henry was equally as confused as Amy.

Amy literally had no idea what was happening. First Sherlock was busy, then not busy, then something about a rabbit. Her head was spinning.

"Er, sorry, so you _are_ coming?" Henry also had no idea what was going on.

"Twenty year old disappearance, a monstrous hound? I wouldn't miss this for the world!" Sherlock exclaimed.

"Right! Well before he changes his mind, or whatever the hell you were doing over there Sherlock, I'm going to pack!" Amy got up and trotted off down the stairs into her flat.

Afterwards, the three took the cab to Paddington station. The ride there was mainly quiet, until Sherlock asked Amy a certain question.

"What were you thinking about?" he looked her straight in the eyes.

They were sitting across from each other, and John left for the washroom. The train was just getting closer to their destination.

"What?" Amy didn't understand the question.

"Earlier. At the flat. You weren't concentrating on the case. Why?" Sherlock leaned forward, squinted his eyes and began deducing.

"Oh, come on, Sherlock. Don't give me that look. I was exhausted. It was a busy day," she lied through her teeth, hoping for it to sound convincing.

"I don't believe you," Sherlock leaned back.

"Of course you don't," Amy smiled. "So the monster in Dartmoor ..."

Sherlock cut her off, "Ah! So you were thinking about monsters at the flat!"

Amy was startled, "what?"

"I mentioned the flat, you say you're tired, but what you were really thinking about was the monster. I knew it!"

"Whatever," she shook her head and diverted her gaze. "So I was thinking about the hound."

Sherlock squinted his eyes again, Amy got defensive, "Just the hound?"

John popped open the door before Amy could answer, which she was absolutely thankful for. He took a seat down beside Sherlock and showed him a newspaper article in which he was wearing the deerstalker hat. Of course, this diverted Sherlock's attention off of Amy and he scoffed at the picture and read the dreadful article. Amy looked out the window thinking not of the hound, but of the monsters she couldn't talk about to Sherlock or John.

When they got to the station, they rented a Range Rover and drove off. John was in the left seat, Sherlock was driving, and Amy was doing off in the backseat. No one was talking as she succumbed to the exhaustion. When she woke up, the car was stopped and Sherlock and John were gone. Rubbing her eyes, she climbed out the car and put a green jacket on. Off in the distance, she could see Sherlock on top of huge rocks and John below it. She made her way to them.

"Minefield? Technically Baskerville's an army base, so I guess they've always been keen to keep people out," John explained as Amy got nearer to him. "Ah! Amy!"

"What's happening now?"

"Just showing where things are. That's Grimpen Village, and that's Dewer's Hollow," he pointed out towards those areas.

"Hmm," Amy squinted her eyes.

"What?" John looked at her.

"Nothing. That mine field. You step on one and get blown up, then?" she asked.

"Yep."

She wondered if something escaped from Baskerville, why it hadn't gotten blown up from the mine field. Sherlock got down from the boulders and she passed that idea aside. They got back into the car and drove off to the village.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

"Vegetarian cuisine?" Amy scoffed at the sign out in front.

Sherlock smirked and rolled his eyes.

"What's wrong with vegetarian food?" John asked.

"I'm Scottish. We fry things. And it's not always vegetables," Amy walked in before Sherlock, leaving them trailing behind.

Walking in, Sherlock whispered something into John's ear. Later Amy and Sherlock split up, looking around the establishment as John headed for the counter to get their rooms. They were fully booked up, so there wasn't much choice left.

"Sorry we couldn't do a double room, let me get you some drinks, eh?" Gary, the manager said. "It shouldn't be a problem with _you_ boys, right?"

"That's fine," John stopped, realizing what he said. "We're not – "

Gary smiled and turned around to get the drinks. John noticed a conspicuous looking receipt and took it before Gary could face him.

Amy and Sherlock walked around the area taking in everything. While Amy thought of the place as cute, rustic, and definitely somewhere she could see Rory and her settling at, Sherlock was deducing details from everyone and everything he could touch. Looking back around, Amy caught sight of Sherlock following a teenage boy and John still talking to the manager. She sat down, waiting for John to finish talking. She sat still, letting her eyes wander about. She could hear chatter from elderly ladies in the corner away from her, she caught the details off of the food the patron sitting the table next to her was eating, and she could smell the scent of beer from behind the counter. Her stomach rumbled – loud. When was the last time she ate? She went up to the counter and stood beside John.

"Got any chips?" John asked quickly.

"Can you make it two orders?" Amy asked cheerily.

"Sure," the cook left and the manager went with him.

"Find anything?" Amy asked.

"Just this receipt," John took it out as stealthily as he could.

"Meat supplies?" Amy asked. "This is a vegetarian place!"

"Right," John agreed. "Suspicious, don't you think?"

"What's Sherlock doing?" She crossed her arms and leaned her back on the counter.

"Talking to Fletcher. He runs the monster walks, apparently," John grabbed his drink and sat down by Sherlock.

Amy continued to wait for the chips. They were taking a little while longer than she expected, so she began to stare at John and Sherlock. She had no idea what Sherlock was going on about, but Fletcher began to look agitated more and more.

"Here you go, miss," Gary placed two baskets of chips in front of her.

"Thanks," she said and picked them both up.

Walking towards the two, she noticed that they had gotten up and were waiting for her. Fletcher had gone. Amy handed the one basket of chips to a happy John, who began eating them as soon as he placed his drink down.

"Sorry, Amy, but our next stop is Baskerville," Sherlock apologized.

"So?"

"You won't be able to come with us," he said without any emotion.

"Why not?" She crossed her arms like a stubborn child.

"I have access as Mycroft, and John has access as military personnel. I have no idea what your credentials are," Sherlock explained quickly. "I doubt your job as a model will give you enough security clearance."

'_The Doctor's companion,_' she thought but instead only smiled. "Fine. What am I going to do here then?"

"You could check out our room?" John managed to get a word in with chips in his mouth.

John pulled out the key and gave it to Amy. She shrugged and walked to the Range Rover to grab her bags. She insisted on taking Sherlock and John's bags as well since they weren't heavy. As she waved goodbye to the two, she opened the door to the room.

"Only one bed?" she said out loud.

Looking around she realized that the room was really only made for two people. Someone would have to sleep on the sofa. She placed the bags in one corner of the room and switched on the telly. Nothing particular of interest was on, so Amy walked out back to the main pub. Fletcher was waiting with a group of people. She wondered if it was the tour.

"Is this the tour to see the hound?" Amy asked.

"Oh yes, please join!" Fletcher tried to sound menacing, but failed. "Come and see the monster!"

In his normal voice, he explained, "It's the last tour of the day, so we better hurry on."

It only took a few minutes of waiting and a lighter wallet for each tourist, but they began on the tour. It was still bordering on daylight and Amy was surrounded by a bunch of strangers, so she had no feelings of being scared at all. Even if, she could handle it - she did walk blind through a forest of angels, so this wasn't too scary. They began to walk through the clearing. Fletcher was trying to get the crowd riled up, but Amy was having none of it.

"Everyone, watch your step! It's a bit muddy 'round here!" Fletcher warned.

"Are we going down to the hollow?" one of the tourists asked.

"No, we're not allowed, unfortunately. Besides, it's getting dark quick. Must be getting you all back."

She was close to the back of the group when something sprinted behind her. Amy looked around, but saw nothing but the trickles of light pouring through the trees. Still looking behind, Amy tripped over something and landed in the mud, soiling her clothes.

"Are you alright, miss?" Fletcher jogged quickly to Amy.

"Yeah. Yep! Fine!" Amy got up as quickly as she could to avoid humiliation.

"Alright, let's head back now!" Fletcher got everyone's attention.

Some of the people in the group groaned about not seeing the hollow, but they followed Fletcher's orders. Amy was now at the front of the group, so she was able to see everything in front of her. As she walked, she kept her eyes on the ground. She was looking for whatever tracks were left from whatever sprinted from behind her. Unfortunately, Fletcher ran past her to get ahead of the group, destroying whatever was left in the mud.

Amy returned as quickly as she could to her room. Her clothes were filthy and she needed to change. Going into her suitcase, she grabbed the first thing she could get her hands on. Looking in the mirror, she noticed she was wearing a blue shirt. Almost the same shade as the TARDIS, but still different. Moving on, she combed her hair and smiled. Turning away, she realized she was okay. She was okay. She could wear a blue shirt without crying. She could think of the TARDIS without crying. That pang that came from the Doctor's death was gone.

Pacing the room, she wondered if that was what happens when you move on. Does the pain just disappear? She thought she would never be able to survive after that. For a long time, she wondered if living without the Doctor would kill her or not. Clearly, her soul could take it.

Her phone rang. It was Sherlock.

"Hello?" She was confused as to why he was phoning her.

"Amy. There's a car waiting for you outside, get in it."

"Why?" She was suspicious.

"It'll send you to Henry Knight's house. So if you could quickly get to it, we'll be able to head out sooner."

Amy hung up her phone, grabbed her jacket, a torch, and walked quickly to where the car was waiting for her. She was at Henry's house shortly, and walked right to where Sherlock and John were. She didn't take much time in looking around the house she was in – it was irrelevant. As she unzipped her coat, she noticed Sherlock's eye go right to her shirt. His eyebrow went up and his eyes narrowed.

'_Does he know?'_ Amy wondered, but moved on from that subject quickly before Sherlock could take a look at that change in her face.

"Coffee?" Henry offered.

"Sure, thanks," Amy sat down beside John and put some sugar and milk in her cup. "What's the plan?"

"We take you, Henry, back out onto the moor," Sherlock began.

Amy took a sip, Henry looked at both of them, "okay ..."

"And see if anything attacks you," Sherlock finished.

"What?" John exclaimed. "That's not a plan."

"Listen. If there is a monster out there, John, there's only one thing to do: find out where it lives," Sherlock looked at Henry and smiled at him.

Amy smiled sympathetically at Henry, knowing that Sherlock was right. Unless Henry was the Doctor, they would have to look for this hound. Grabbing the necessary items, they all geared up to catch the beast. Amy was on a caffeine high from the coffee she had, so she was as alert as ever. As they began walking to the moor, it was beginning to get dark.

Sherlock, Amy, and Henry walked down towards the hollow. Although John stopped after noticing some movement, none of them seem to have realized. Amy took her time getting to the hollow – she knew her way around – because she wanted to look for signs of this hound.

In the midst of all of this, she was left alone for a little while, and this teeny shadow of fear began creeping up on her. The forest was far too similar like the one on the ship – the oxygen factory that ended up being where the Weeping Angels followed the Doctor, Amy, and River through. Walking down the slippery slope, she caught up with Sherlock and Henry, but something felt terribly wrong. She closed her eyes.

_'Look where?' Amy asked._

_ 'Exactly where you don't want to look. Where you never want to look, the corner of your eye. Look behind you,' the Doctor said._

Amy opened her eyes. Slowly, she turned her head at the place she didn't notice and shone her torch at the top of the hill. The hound was staring directly at her. It took her less than a few seconds to process what she was seeing, and when she did, she yelled out one word.

"DOCTOR!"


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Sherlock and Henry looked up at where Amy was shining her light. The hound was staring at them, growling, just waiting to pounce on them. It was gigantic, black, and had red eyes. Amy stared at it and then at Sherlock. No sooner did it disappear. In her mind, she was trying to rationalize it as something. Sherlock was talking about the genetic manipulations happening at Baskerville, but she wouldn't believe that something like that could escape. It was a military base filled with soldiers at the ready with guns fully loaded. She was not terrified by it because it was not a monster. She knew what a monster was. She knew what monsters did. Whatever she was looking at, it was just a dog – a wild dog with red eyes. It had to be, so she settled at that.

Looking back at the spot at the top of the hill and then back at Sherlock once more, she noticed that he was scared out of his mind. It must have been a few seconds that passed by because soon, Henry began freaking out.

"Oh my God, oh my God. Did you see it?" Henry staggered his way over to Amy and Sherlock.

Amy didn't answer. Sherlock didn't either, but only because he couldn't rationalize what he was seeing. Sherlock looked at Amy and frowned. Why was she so calm? Sherlock pushed passed Henry and back up to the trail. Henry and Amy followed. Finally, John came running towards them with a very confused expression on his face.

"I didn't see anything," Sherlock tired to assure everyone.

Henry looked devastated, but Amy still couldn't say anything. She didn't know what to say! How could she explain to Henry it wasn't a monster when they all clearly saw it? How could she explain why Sherlock was lying about seeing it when he clearly did? How could she explain how the appearance of the dog didn't really frighten her? Words were floating around in her head, and she couldn't put them together. She felt someone touch her shoulder.

"Amy, I'm going to bring Henry home, alright? It's a short walk to the inn from here, so you can go on back with Sherlock," John told her.

She nodded and took Sherlock's arm, "Come on, Sherlock. This way's quicker."

Amy led Sherlock down a trail that Fletcher took earlier as John and Henry walked the other way. While she walking, she would occasionally glance at Sherlock. His mind was off somewhere thinking about the hound. She dared to speak first.

"What are you thinking, Sherlock?" She didn't look at him when she asked.

When he didn't answer, they just continued walking. It wasn't a long walk, even when they were completely silent. As they reached the pub, Sherlock immediately took a seat by the fireplace. Amy bought Sherlock a drink and sat down. He was avoiding her glares because he knew that she could deduce him as easily as he could deduce everyone in the room. Amy would take the chance to, but the fact that he was so scared made her uneasy. He didn't want to talk, and so she didn't either.

Amy left as Sherlock was pondering. He was desperately trying to work out what he saw. He was shaking as he lifted his cup. He felt immobilizing fear, and something else. He couldn't exactly figure out what that other thing was because his mind was jumbled. All of a sudden, John sat beside him. Looking at the clock, Sherlock realized how long he was sitting in front of the fireplace.

"Maybe we should just look for whoever's got a big dog," was the only thing Sherlock heard.

"Henry's right."

John began to poke at Sherlock's rationality further and further until Sherlock couldn't take it anymore.

"THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH ME! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" he yelled for everyone to hear.

"You want me to prove it, yes?" Sherlock began to rattle off information about a mother and son sitting behind them.

John angrily got up and left. There was a level to which John could tolerate Sherlock, and this night, Sherlock ran past that line. A few more silent moments to himself, and he texted John to check out Dr. Mortimer. Still finding the setting he was in distracting – too many people – Sherlock decided on heading to the room. He was still too focused on everything that happened earlier that he didn't even bother turning on the light when he got to the bedroom. He took off his blazer jacket and shirt and carefully hanged them on the door knob. As he laid into bed, his eyes finally adjusted to the darkness of the room. It wasn't pitch black as he thought originally. He closed his eyes and rolled over onto the left side of his body. He opened his eyes and realized that Amy's face was just inches away from his. Her eyes just happened to open and she jumped up and out of bed.

"Oi! Jeez! SHERLOCK! What the hell!" Amy's heart was racing.

Amy turned on the lamp. She accidentally fell asleep on the bed and on top of the covers as she was waiting up for Sherlock and John. She was still in the same clothes – she was too lazy to change. Sherlock, on the other hand, was basically half naked and confused as she was.

"Sorry, were you sleeping?" Sherlock rubbed his head.

"No, it's fine," Amy toned her voice down seeing that Sherlock was still frazzled by the hound incident. "Where's John?"

"Out. With Dr. Louise Mortimer. Henry's therapist," Sherlock got up and sat in the chair beside the bed.

Amy went through her suitcase and got out her pajamas and walked to the bathroom.

"Amy?"

"Yeah?" she answered from the bathroom.

"You saw it, didn't you? The hound?"

Amy opened the door slightly, just giving a glimpse of the fact she was combing her hair, "Yes, Sherlock. I did. And I know you did too."

"Of course."

Amy began brushing her teeth as Sherlock changed into his pajama bottoms and shirt.

"Are you alright?" Amy asked as she opened the door. "You weren't exactly yourself when we walked back here."

He ignored the question. He didn't want to have the same conversation that he had with John, "You believe what you saw?"

"Yes. I have no doubt it my mind that a hound is what I saw," Amy replied somberly as she got into her side of the bed. "Black, giant, red eyes."

"Doubt," Sherlock repeated. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"I knew I was terrified. But there was another emotion. Something I've never felt before. It's doubt. I've never doubted myself before."

There was a moment of silence before Amy spoke, she couldn't stand the awkwardness of Sherlock talking down to her – literally, "well come on, then!"

Sherlock pulled the covers and lay next to Amy.

"Sherlock," Amy looked at him, and he looked back. "I saw a hound. But I ... I don't ...I wasn't..."

Amy didn't know how to complete that sentence. She wanted to tell him it was a just a wild dog of sorts. She wanted to tell him it wasn't a monster from Hell. It was simply and irrevocably a dog. Not a monster, not an alien. But she kept silent, which made Sherlock suspicious.

"Never mind. Good night, Sherlock," Amy turned the light off and she closed her eyes.

In a few moments, Sherlock began to speak again.

"Amy?"

"Yeah."

"What's a TARDIS?"

Amy froze. She did not expect to hear that. Her breathing stopped momentarily and turned into shallow breaths. Her heart rate somehow jumped up. Unfortunately, all of that were made worse from the fact that she was laying right beside Sherlock Holmes in a dark and silent room where his senses were probably heightened from all the adrenaline pumping through his system.

"I ... I don't know," Amy tried to keep her voice steady. "Why do you ask?"

"You were wearing blue today. Somehow that colour is associated to whatever a TARDIS is."

"I don't understand," Amy sat up and turned on the lamp to look at Sherlock. "What are you talking about?"

"A memory, a thought, I don't know. Whatever it is has been implanted into my brain and it deals with your association to the colour blue and a TARDIS. Now you know I'll eventually figure it out," Sherlock began. "So you can tell me now and spare me the boring research I'd have to do on you."

"I have no idea what you're going on about Sherlock," she lay back in her original position and turned off the lamp.

There was no way Amy was going to explain what a TARDIS was. If she told him what it was, Sherlock would have thought she was crazy. Henry Knight crazy. In her mind, she let out a big sigh. The fact that he let the idea go – even if it was momentary – made her sufficiently relieved.

"Another thing," Sherlock said in the darkness.

"Go to bed, Sherlock," Amy groaned and covered her head with her pillow.

"Why did you yell out 'Doctor'?" He asked calmly, but with a hint of curiosity.

She told herself to keep calm and to breathe. Even just a change in her internal bodily systems could tip off Sherlock.

Amy had to think quickly to suppress suspicion, "I was calling out for Doctor John Watson."

"But I've never heard you refer to him as 'Doctor.'"

"Well I wasn't exactly thinking when the hound popped up," Amy's eyes were still closed. "I just yelled what came to mind."

She realized she shouldn't have said that last part, but what she said seemed to have settled Sherlock, for now, but he still wanted to talk.

"You're not just a model," Sherlock said.

Amy opened her eyes groggily and looked over at the clock on her bedside table. Between the time Sherlock last spoke to her and his last statement, she had slept for an hour.

Amy groaned and sat up. She turned on the lamp and saw that Sherlock was laying on his back with his eyes wide open.

"You want to talk, Sherlock? Fine. Let's talk. What do you want to know?" Amy sounded a bit too hostile, but that was only because she was awoken too many times by the same person.

Sherlock sat up and looked at her. She realized he began deducing. She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

"Well?" Amy shook her head.

Sherlock was stubborn. He didn't want her to tell him _everything_. He wanted the game, and he wanted to leap over hurdles to learn rather to run straight to the finish line. Sherlock slid back down to his original position and rolled over to his right side, his back facing Amy. She sighed again, laid back down, and turned off the lamp.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

_She was following a dog through the woods, eager to see where it was going. It almost seemed like the dog wanted Amy to follow. She pushed through the thick grass and branches blocking her way but the dog wouldn't wait for her. Trying to find her way, she noticed she was walking on sand. Looking back up, she was standing by Lake Silencio. The dog stood on top of the cliff to her right, the moon just illuminating everything around her. The dog looked down and pawed at the sand. _

_ In front of Amy stood the astronaut that killed the Doctor. Walking closer, she managed to make out the sound of drums. Amy watched as she raised her arms, ready to open up the visor to see who was in the suit. All of a sudden, a howling noise caught Amy by surprise, and she realized that the dog turned into the hound. The hound jumped down from the cliff and began to sprint towards the astronaut. Without looking, Amy tried to push the astronaut out of the way to avoid being attacked, but the astronaut had disappeared – she was pushing thin air. She saw that her hands were different: she was wearing thick white gloves. She looked down at her body and saw that she was in the astronaut suit. Looking up, the hound was heading straight for her. The drum beat kept beating on. _

Amy opened her eyes and tried to focus on what the sound in her ear was. With her brain more active, she realized it was Sherlock's heartbeat – her head was laying right by his chest. She was curled up next to him. Luckily, he was still sleeping, so she slowly backed away from him without waking him up. She pushed the covers off herself and sat up on the edge of the bed. She wiped her eyes and walked to the bathroom.

She looked in the mirror and tried to remember her dream. Placing her hands on the edge of the counter, she closed her eyes. The hound, the astronaut, the lake. Was it a dream or was it real? Amy pushed the hair out of her face and opened the door, grabbing clothes to change into. She walked out the bedroom and into the living space. John was sleeping on the couch in what looked to be like an uncomfortable position. Nevertheless, Amy quietly headed out for breakfast.

A few minutes after Amy left, Sherlock woke. Looking to the other side of the bed, he realized Amy was gone. Quickly, he got dressed and headed out the door – he was going to go visit Henry Knight. Sherlock developed a game plan for the day. Sherlock managed to rationalize parts of what happened last night – he accepted that he saw a monster, but hadn't a clue to how he did – and had something else to keep his mind stimulated: Amy. The questions he asked her last night made her incredibly uncomfortable, and he didn't know why. Not yet, at least. A TARDIS, a Doctor, and the colour blue. He still had no idea what a TARDIS was, but at least the last two were understandable enough. That was all he had on Amy Pond and he was going to figure them out one way or another.

Amy was enjoying her breakfast when John came in. She waved him over to sit down, but it didn't look like he was going to stay long.

"Good morning, John!" She said cheerily.

"Good morning. Have you seen Sherlock?" John wasn't exactly happy.

"No, he was still in the room when I left," she took a bite out of her toast.

John had his notebook in his hand, and got up, but sat back down, "You know, I think you're the first person that Sherlock has ever gone to bed with."

Amy scoffed loudly and her eyes widened, "Sorry, what did you just say? I did not. I have a husband!"

"No!" John's eyes also widened. "I meant, no! I knew!"

There was an awkward silence between the two before John decided to actually get up and he spelled out what he meant slowly, "Sorry, I just meant that Sherlock has never really had anyone sleeping beside him in a bed before. At least, that I know of."

Amy laughed, "Oh, John. Sit down, have some breakfast with me."

John smiled, "Nah, I'm fine. I'm going to go around the grounds."

John got up once more but sat back down again, "Amy, did you see a hound?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"John, I wouldn't lie to you," Amy said solemnly.

"Then why are you so calm about it? Sherlock, last night, he was shaking. He was so frightened. Petrified, even. You're sitting here, eating toast without any care in the world."

Amy leaned in closer, "John, Sherlock went into this case thinking that what Henry Knight saw was just a figment of imagination produced in his childhood. He closed his mind off thinking that there was never any hound. Don't think for a second that Sherlock believes in the irrational. Only when he hears something bordering on the impossible or even the ridiculous, he closes his mind off. A genetic experiment gone wrong attacks a man with no witnesses except for a scared child? He laughed for a reason. When he finally saw the hound, those walls that he put up fell down. He relied on his senses to tell him that there couldn't be such thing, and when they failed, he became horrified. He's not scared of the hound, just afraid of the fact that he doubted himself. He couldn't trust his senses, and that's never happened to him before."

John sat in silence trying to take that in.

"He wants things to be clever, and not laid out like that. That will be his downfall one day, I promise you that," Amy took a loud bite into her toast.

Again, John took all of that in. Her frankness after last night's events was unsettling for him.

"So when we go back to Dewer's Hollow, which I expect will be soon, open your mind, John. Don't shut it off to what you think is the impossible."

Amy smiled and John left. John didn't know whether to take that to heart or listen to his instincts. He wasn't even sure if all of what Amy said came from seeing the hound. In the next hour or so, Amy chit chatted with the manager, read the newspaper for anything new, and before she knew it, another friendly face approached her.

"Greg!" Amy stood up and hugged him.

"Amy!" he smiled. "Nice to see you."

Her eyes narrowed, "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I fancied a holiday," he said.

"But you obviously came back from one. You are incredibly tanned," Amy's eyebrow went up. "You're here because of Mycroft, aren't you? Checking up on Sherlock? I heard what happened in Baskerville with the ID."

Lestrade shook his head, "you sound exactly like Sherlock."

"Maybe that's why he lets me tag along," she laughed.

"Well at least you're much nicer than him," he teased.

Not a moment too soon did Sherlock and John arrive.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Amy and Lestrade heard Sherlock yelling from the entrance.

"Speak of the devil," Lestrade looked at Amy, who then laughed.

After Sherlock basically repeated everything that Amy said, John suggested that Lestrade use his policing powers to check up on the receipt that he confiscated the first day they got there. As Lestrade was looking through the receipts and past invoices, Amy saw Sherlock making coffee. Two cups. It would have gone without any suspicion until Amy noticed Sherlock took out a slip of paper and mixed what looked like sugar into the cups of coffee.

Sherlock gave one cup to Amy and one to John. She remembered that John never takes sugar in his coffee, so before Amy took a sip, she watched John. John protested the sweetness of it. She was right about the sugar, but why was Sherlock so sneaky about it? Why did he put sugar in John's coffee in the first place, knowing he doesn't take it? But mainly, why did Sherlock make coffee for people other than himself!? A light bulb went off in her head.

'_He thinks we saw the hound because of ... sugar?' _Amy thought to herself.

It sounded logical for the most part. She remembered having sugar in her coffee at Henry's place, and surely the cups sitting in front of Sherlock and Henry also had sugar in it. If someone wanted to drug Henry, sugar would be accessible. John doesn't take sugar in his coffee, so it would be reasonable to assume that was why he didn't see anything last night.

"We couldn't control the bloody thing. It was vicious. And then, a month ago, Billy took him to the vet, and, er ... you know," Gary said.

"It's dead?"

"Put down."

Amy couldn't believe that. They put down a dog? They manage a vegetarian restaurant! They don't seem like the type that would kill a dog. Sherlock, Lestrade, and John left as Amy stayed put. She needed to ask a question.

"It was a normal dog, right?" Amy asked calmly and without hostility.

"Yes, nothing like the documentary," Billy replied. "It's just a big black dog. No red eyes, nothing. He doesn't hurt people, he likes to wander the moor."

Amy's eyebrows went up slightly when Billy referenced the dog in present tense.

'_So the dog's not dead then,'_ she wondered.

She left the table to rejoin Sherlock and John.

"I have a theory, but we're going to need to go back to Baskerville to test it. Amy, come with us," Sherlock said.

"How? You said the last time you were there, you and John almost got caught if it weren't for Dr. Frankland," Amy noted.

"Right, can't pull off the ID trick again," John added.

'_Unless you had psychic paper,'_ Amy grinned to herself.

"Might not have to!" Sherlock pulled out his phone and dialed a number. "Hello, brother dear! How are you?"

John and Amy looked at each other smirked. The trip there was short, but it was new for Amy and she found it fascinating. All the military and security reminded her of the time she met Winston Churchill. She smiled as she reminisced. She helped saved the Earth from the Daleks. Now those were monsters.

"I need to see Major Barrymore as soon as we get inside. Which means you'll both have to start the search for the hound. In the labs. John, take Stapleton's. Amy, take the one above hers," Sherlock looked into the rear view mirror for Amy's confirmation.

"Right," John said as Amy nodded.

His theory, Amy thought, would be to test the sugar. She knew that, though she wasn't sure if Sherlock knew what she was thinking. Complying with his instructions, she hit up the lab above Stapleton's. Nobody was there and so she just looked around. It was a lab like any other. Everything was clean, white, and scientific. It got boring fast – it wasn't her division – so she texted John.

_Anything out of the ordinary? – AP_

_Nah. Just a few leaky pipes. – JW_

_Toxic? – AP_

_Doesn't look like it. I've dealt with gas in the war, and this looks harmless. – JW_

All of a sudden, sirens began blaring and the lights blinded Amy and John. After being momentarily startled, John tried to exit the lab to no avail. Amy just looked around, wondering where all of that came from. It went dark again, but not so that they both couldn't see. John pulled out his torch, and Amy decided to look for the exit. Unfortunately, her pass card wouldn't work. She walked to the other exit to try, but again, she had no access.

She began texting Sherlock to try to open the door with his pass key, but before she could press send, the sound of a hound snarling filled the room.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

John was in utter disbelief at what he was hearing and he began to panic. What he was experiencing bordered on the horrors he faced during the war. He tried phoning Sherlock, but he wasn't picking up. In the other lab above John, Amy stood her ground and listened carefully and tried to rationalize everything. Closing her eyes, she relied on her other senses to tell her what was happening. With reason, she realized that there was no hound. How could the hound, even if it did escape originally from Baskerville, break back in? Unless it used time travel, there could be no hound. She looked around for cages, but there were no cages for any kinds of animals on her floor. She stopped walking when something she was hearing sounded different from everywhere else. Looking up she realized the sound of the hound was coming from above. She rolled her eyes wondering what the hell Sherlock Holmes was doing with a recording of the hound and access to the PA system.

Amy realized that the theory that Sherlock wanted to test out was an experiment to get her and John to see the hound. She assumed that by ingesting the sugar, it would make them hallucinate seeing the hound, especially if there was a recording of growling. When the lights returned to normal, she tried to see if her pass card would work on the doors. Luckily for her, they did. Amy took the elevator to the floor below hers to find Sherlock and John.

Amy walked in to see John terribly distressed and horrified.

"You saw what you expected to see because I told you," Sherlock noticed Amy. "We have all been drugged."

"Drugged?" John was panting.

_'Fear and stimulus'_ she heard in her mind.

"Come on then," Sherlock walked past Amy and towards the doors.

"Are you alright, John?" Amy went in close and spoke quietly.

He was silent for a minute, still trying to recuperate from what he saw, "Yea. No. I don't know. It was here. It was in here with me. I saw it."

They tried to keep up with Sherlock, but he was already in a different part of the lab with Dr. Stapleton, asking to borrow her microscope. John was still trying to process what he saw, but Amy's calmness helped, especially since Sherlock was ignoring him. She sat him down on a bench beside Dr. Stapleton, who was almost analyzing him.

"Sherlock," Amy tried to get his attention away from the sugar he was looking at through the microscope. "There's nothing in the sugar."

"What? How do you know?" Sherlock didn't look away.

"Because you put some of it in my coffee, but I didn't see the hound, even when I heard it," she said softly so John wouldn't hear.

"That's different, you had already seen it, and you obviously knew what I planned to do, so you didn't expect to see it anyway," Sherlock mentioned.

She looked at him and at the microscope. What he said was true for the most part. She walked back to John, who was having a conversation with Dr. Stapleton.

"If you can imagine it, someone is probably doing it somewhere," she heard Dr. Stapleton say.

"Cloning? Human cloning?" John persisted.

Amy turned her back on them and smiled. What little imagination they had. Dr. Stapleton was right though, there would always be someone trying to create something from imagination. She'd seen automatic sand, she'd seen the soul of a TARDIS transfer into a human body outside of the universe, and she'd seen her husband with a gun as an arm. She'd seen so much and all they cared about were genetic manipulations and cloning.

In just a few seconds, she watched as Sherlock threw his sample to the ground and rattled off information about a drug that was playing with their minds making them see a hound. Sherlock explained what he was thinking about the sugar, and all three of them listening were trying to keep up.

"How did it get into our systems? How?!" Sherlock sat down and crouched over.

To someone not of the 'team,' Sherlock's twitching and head movements must have looked incredibly strange and worrisome, but it was just foreshadowing something was about to happen.

"Get out," Sherlock looked at the three with ice in his eyes.

"What?" Dr. Stapleton was obviously confused.

"Get out. I need to go to my mind palace," Sherlock said with a robotic tone of voice.

"Well we may as well go," John led the two ladies out the door as he explained to Dr. Stapleton what Sherlock's mind palace was.

"So why do we have to leave?" Dr. Stapleton asked with a curious tone.

"He cannot have any distractions. Just one person and the other end of the room is enough to break his concentration. He's good at selectively focusing on one thing, and if that means another person's breathing rate, he won't be able to access his mind palace. He is almost under this trance. It's fascinating when you can get a peek," Amy explained with a tone of adoration towards the idea.

"Got it," Sherlock popped his head out of the door. "I need to use a computer. I need to access some files."

"What have you found?" Dr. Stapleton asked.

"I'll tell you on the way. Computer? Now," Sherlock walked ahead of her.

"We can use the central database, follow me," Dr. Stapleton led the way.

They began walking down the hallway, went up a few floors, and found their way to the main room where the computer was available.

"Project H.O.U.N.D.," Sherlock said. "Must have read about it and stored it away. An experiment in a CIA facility in Liberty, Indiana."

"Liberty, in," Amy piped up as she looked over Stapleton's left shoulder at the screen.

Entering in 'HOUND' was moot – even Stapleton didn't have authorization. They needed another password, and that looked to be in Major Barrymore's territory. Sherlock quickly walked to Barrymore's office to get some info on what the password would be. Amy stood watch as Sherlock requested John's help. It took less than a minute.

Amy looked over Sherlock's shoulder and tried to skim over what was on the screen. She was horrified at what Project H.O.U.N.D. was.

"Prolonged exposure drove them insane," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock," Amy's eyes widened.

"Someone who was old enough to be there at the time of the experiments in 1986...," Sherlock ignored her.

"Sherlock!"

"Oh my god, Bob Frankland," Stapleton recognized one of the faces. "But this was chemical warfare. He's a virologist."

"It's where he started then," Sherlock sighed. "Obsessed that the drug could work."

"Sherlock!" She yelled louder, getting everyone's attention.

"What is it!?" Sherlock tore his attention away from the screen long enough to see the panic over Amy's face.

"You said 'prolonged exposure drove them insane.' And what the subjects did to others," Amy tried to get him to see what she was thinking. "Sherlock, we have to find Henry. He's been drugged at least 4 times. H–he could ..."

John's phone interrupted her, and the voice of someone crying on the other end could be heard by both Sherlock and Amy.

"You've got to find Henry," a sobbing Louise Mortimer said. "He's got a gun. You've got to stop him. I don't know what he might do."

"Alright, stay there, we'll get someone to you," John tried to reassure her as Sherlock dialed a number.

"Henry?" Sherlock asked for confirmation.

John nodded.

Sherlock put his phone to his ear "Lestrade? Get to the hollow ... Dewer's Hollow, now! And bring a gun!"

Dr. Stapleton looked at Sherlock, "what's happening?"

"We better hurry, then," Amy said. "John? Let's go?"

John nodded and began walking with Amy to the exit.

Sherlock walked up to Dr. Stapleton, "thank you for your assistance."

"You're welcome. I hope you have found the answers you're looking for," Dr. Stapleton shook Sherlock's hand and walked back to her lab, leaving Sherlock alone with the computer.

Looking at the exit and then the computer, Sherlock quickly sat down.

"Haven't found out all the answers ... yet," Sherlock placed his hands on the keyboard and clicked on the search menu.

He began to type.

_TARDIS_

He pressed enter. As it began to load, he realized that the word "TARDIS" could have also been an acronym as well. Figuring out what it stood for was the computer's job. A message came up saying that he wasn't authorized to view the information. He put in Barrymore's password and still didn't have access. He looked at the door and back at the screen and noticed something different than when he was trying to access information on Project H.O.U.N.D. The information on the TARDIS did not belong to CIA, rather, it belonged to Torchwood. Sherlock's eyebrow lifted and he squinted. Instead, he decided to search up something else.

_Amy Pond_

He pressed enter. Surely, this time, he would have some information on her. Surely there would be some media files – newspaper clippings, or even magazine editorials – at least. She could not have just been a model. For some reason, it took longer for something to pop up, but when it did, it was the same screen: classified information that belonged to Torchwood.

"Who are you?" Sherlock asked, stumped at the sight of Torchwood's name and the words unauthorized and ultra-confidential below it.

The sound of knocking on the glass pane on the door caught Sherlock by surprise. It was Amy.

"Are you coming?" She mouthed.

In one swift move, he shut the screen off, grabbed his phone, and was up on his feet heading to the door.

"What do you think is going to happen?" Amy asked as they swiftly walked to the main entrance of Baskerville. "What's to become of Henry?"

"What do you mean? He's going to try and kill himself," he said without any care as he buttoned his coat.

"No, will he ever be sane again? He spent a great deal of his life thinking that a hound killed his father."

"Well we'll see what happens when we get to the hollow. Hopefully he'll still be alive enough for me to answer," Sherlock looked at her.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

They stopped the car at the edge of the woods and they began to run towards the hollow. Any second now, Henry Knight would try to take his own life because of what he thought he saw when he was just a child.

"This way!" Sherlock led the way towards the hollow.

As they were running, Amy tripped over something. John stopped in his tracks and ran back to her, but Sherlock kept on going.

"No! Go with Sherlock! I'm fine!" Amy yelled, taking her time getting back up.

John obeyed her command and left. Wiping the dirt off of her pants, she noticed a flap of something rubber sticking out of the ground. Kicking the leaves and grass, she realized what she tripped over was a rubber pad covering some tubing. She closed her eyes momentarily, and her memory flashed back when she was in Baskerville. John mentioned leaky pipes spewing gas! With this revelation in mind, she sprinted towards the hollow. Amy carefully went down the hill, seeing that Lestrade was there, and Sherlock with a gun in his hand – presumably Henry's gun.

"But we saw it, the hound, last night," Henry was talking.

Watching this standoff, Amy completely forgot about the gas. Sherlock ignored her presence.

"Yeah, but there was a dog. Henry. Leaving footprints, scaring witnesses, but it was nothing more than an ordinary dog. We both saw it," Sherlock explained calmly.

The sound of something howling caught everyone by surprise. The hound was stalking the group at the top of the hill. As black as when all the stars in the universe collapsed, and with eyes as red as Irene Adler's lipstick.

"NO, NO, NO, NO!" a tortured Henry slumped to the ground.

Amy looked around, everyone was seeing this. Definitely not the sugar. Suddenly, she caught sight of another person walking amongst the mist. She closed her eyes tight and opened them again wondering if it was a hallucination or if it was really there. She rubbed her eyes, and the image of the body walking became clearer. She walked closer and realized that she was seeing the astronaut – the same one from Lake Silencio.

As everyone else's attention was focused on the dog, she walked towards the astronaut, curious to see who was under the darkened mask. The astronaut was wielding what looked to be a gun. Amy stopped when she saw it and instead shone her torch directly at the visor and saw the face of who she thought was the killer. It was her.

"No," she heard herself say. "It can't. No. Doctor."

This unexpected surprise caused Amy to stagger backwards back towards the group, but she slammed her back straight into something hard. She looked to see what she hit, and realized she walked right into the arms of a Weeping Angel. She let out a horrified scream and it caught Sherlock's attention.

Sherlock saw the figure in the mist and went up to him and pulled off the mask, but he saw the face of Moriarty.

"No!" Sherlock yelled. "It's not you, you're not here!"

Amy pushed what she thought were the arms of an angel and turned around, revealing it to actually be the branches of a tree. She looked around and noticed she was out of the mist. She was grappling the idea of the mask on the ground and realized what was going on.

"SHERLOCK! It's the mist! It's the gas!" she yelled.

He seemed to have heard this, for he saw the face of Dr. Bob Frankland covering his mouth.

"Aerosol dispersal! That's what it said in those records!" Sherlock still had a tight grip on Frankland.

"Well for God's sake, kill it! Kill it!" a horrified Frankland yelled out to the advancing hound.

Lestrade and John took the shot, but it was John who managed to kill it. Sherlock sauntered over towards Henry and dragged him towards the body of the dog. Everyone else seemed immobilized. Amy looked at the dog, and for a second, she thought she saw the body of the Doctor. She closed her eyes and opened them again to see the body of the dog. She noticed that tears had fallen from her eyes.

"Look at it, Henry. Come on, look at it!" Sherlock forced Henry to the dog.

Amy looked at John and then back at the tree she thought was a Weeping Angel. She'd never been so conflicted with so many emotions. She never realized what gas could do to a person. She experienced having to choose between two dreams, but this was something entirely different. In such situations, she would have Rory or the Doctor to lean on, but none of them were here. She'd never felt so alone amongst familiar people.

"It's just...," Henry turned around. "Bastard!"

He jumped Dr. Frankland, "Why didn't you just kill me?!"

John and Lestrade pulled Henry off of him.

"This case, it's been brilliant," Sherlock chuckled in excitement.

"Sherlock," John and Amy looked at him with stern expressions on their faces.

"Timing," John shook his head.

A snarl from behind them caught everyone by surprise. John was quick to react and shot it again, but Dr. Frankland used the distraction to his advantage and ran. With just a few seconds to collect their thoughts, they began to chase him through the woods. Amy ran up the hill first, but stopped in her tracks when she saw the figure of a blue box hiding amongst the trees. Sherlock ran past her, which distracted her attention away from the forest for a few seconds. She looked back and noticed that it disappeared. She told herself it was the gas.

"Come on!" John yelled for her to run.

"Frankland!" Sherlock yelled.

Amy could see that Bob was jumping over the barbed wire, completely ignoring the danger sign. She looked back at John who was more concentrated on where he was running than what Bob's situation was.

"Sherlock!" Amy yelled as she was running. "The minefi-"

Just like that, a mine exploded, killing Dr. Bob Frankland.

_The next day ..._

The alarm on her bedside table went off. Groggily, she plunked her hand on top of it to stop the buzzing coming from it. She blinked her eyes a few times and found she was in her bed in Leadworth. She sat up and looked over to the other side of the bed where Rory was starting to get up. She was still in a drowsy daze when she spoke.

"I just had the weirdest dream I was in this military base chasing after a demon hound," she leaned over and gave him a kiss on the lips. "Though not as weird or dangerous as what we've been through, it ranks up there."

Amy climbed over top him and gave him a longer kiss.

"Amy?" Rory asked.

She distanced her face from his and looked at him, waiting for a response.

"Amy," Rory's voice began to change.

"Rory?"

"Amy," Rory's voice completely changed to a deeper tone – it wasn't his voice anymore.

Amy shut her eyes closed and opened them and realized she was sitting on top of Sherlock Holmes. This shocked her so that the minute she tried to jump off of him, she landed right on the floor, face planting on the carpet. A painful yelp came out of her mouth.

"Oh my god," she whispered to herself as she rubbed her cheek.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked, leaning over the bed.

She sat up and rubbed her elbow, "I think so."

Amy looked around and realized she was still in the hotel room in Grimpen Village.

"The drug, gas, must still be in your system, which is probably, why, you know, you hallucinated that I was, well, your husband," Sherlock stammered in slight embarrassment – it was still in the morning and he hadn't anticipated Amy kissing him, which put his mind at a slight disadvantage.

"I heard a loud bang," the Doctor popped his head into the bedroom. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Amy and Sherlock said simultaneously at the same intensity.

"Are you alright?" the Doctor focused his attention on Amy.

Amy slightly gaped when she saw the Doctor standing outside the bedroom door.

"Come on, Pond, let's get up and get your coat. It's time to go!" the Doctor helped her up.

"Thank you, Doctor," she smiled widely.

"No need to call me that unless you've hurt yourself," he laughed. "Call me John."

Amy's emotion changed completely from happiness to confusion. She closed her eyes tightly again and opened them. It was John who was standing right in front of her.

"Right," she nervously chuckled. "Of course."

"Well, I'm almost finished packing. I'll put my stuff in the car and meet you two outside for breakfast," John said.

"Well, no time to waste then," Amy nervously laughed again and grabbed some clothes to change into as she walked briskly to the bathroom.

Sherlock stayed in the same position for a few more minutes trying to understand what just happened. He knew that it was the gas, but he didn't understand the context. What did she mean that Baskerville and the hound 'wasn't as weird or dangerous' as what she'd been through with her husband, and how come she used the word 'doctor' again to address John? Surely, under the setting she was in she would have called John, well, John. So many questions were rattling in his brain about the curiousness of Amy Pond. Everything from the restricted Torchwood files to what happened just a few minutes ago was keeping Sherlock's brain continually running into doors that he couldn't open.

Amy emerged out the door ready to go. Taking her bag with her, she faced Sherlock, avoiding eye contact.

"I'll go ahead and meet up with John first," she said without emotion.

Sherlock nodded and Amy walked out of the room. While she was in the bathroom, she replayed what happened when she awoke. She really thought she saw Rory and the Doctor. She couldn't believe she kissed Sherlock. It took Amy a second to get to it, but she realized that she began dropping a lot of hints from her past life. More and more, Sherlock would question her life about the Doctor, but she was relieved knowing that he would probably never find those answers out by himself.

Amy sat down in front of John. The food came, and they began to eat.

"You know he used you as an experiment? Right?" Amy leaned in. "Well he used both of us as an experiment, but you just got the worst end of the stick."

"What?" his shoulders slumped.

"The sugar in the coffee? He thought that the drug making us see the hound was in our coffee," Amy explained.

Sherlock walked over and sat down beside John.

"You used me as an experiment?!" John yelled at Sherlock.

Sherlock looked at Amy, and she looked away, drinking her coffee.

"I had to! I needed to see if there was a drug in the sugar."

"But it wasn't in the sugar," John smirked realizing that Sherlock got it wrong. "So you got it wrong!"

"No," Sherlock saw Amy look at him with a questionable expression on her face. "A bit. It won't happen again."

Amy and John continue eating before John abruptly stopped, "Any long term effects?"

"None at all. You'll be fine once you've excreted it," Sherlock looked at Amy, she responded by blushing. "We all will."

John looked back and forth at Amy and Sherlock with a quizzical look, wondering what happened earlier that morning. Unfortunately for him, he would never know.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Coming back from Baskerville, things were more than slightly awkward between Amy and Sherlock. Of course, John was clueless with what happened. Amy really wished the Doctor was here so that she could go back in time and stop herself from kissing Sherlock. It was a mistake and she felt guilty – even though she had a legitimate reason for doing so. Then again, a part of her liked it, and she hoped that Sherlock did too. But unlike what she hoped, he wanted to bring it up.

"Amy!" he yelled from upstairs in a special place he found that he could easily communicate with Amy even when on different floors (Amy didn't quite like this).

Amy was enjoying some peace and quiet in her bed, and woke up groggily to his yelling, "What!"

"Come up here, please," he yelled back.

She took her sweet time getting out of bed and combing her hair. She slowly climbed up the stairs and opened the door. Sherlock was standing by the window. He turned to look at her and had a confused expression on his face.

"Why were you outside?" Sherlock looked her up and down. "And you changed?"

"What?" Amy rubbed her eyes.

"You were just outside. You were looking up and smiling at me."

"The gas or drug or whatever must still be in your system. Now I just woke up, so what do you want?" Amy was slightly irritated.

Sherlock poured some tea for her which she gladly accepted. She sat down in John's seat. He sat in front of her with his hands together, like he was praying.

"So the kiss," Sherlock started, but Amy quickly interrupted.

"It was an accident. I'm sorry. Won't happen again," Amy put her tea down.

"No, well, right. Okay. But that wasn't what I was heading for. The only way forward is forward," Sherlock whispered the last part, and then took a minute to analyze Amy. "Where shall I start?"

Amy took a sip from her tea and tried not to show any expression on her face. She was hoping he wouldn't mention what she thought she said to her husband, the TARDIS, or the fact that she kept saying 'Doctor' when she shouldn't have.

"I really don't know you, I don't know much about your past," Sherlock said.

Amy raised her brow, "I thought you didn't need to ask questions to delve that deep into the personal lives of your friends."

"Well, believe me, I don't usually need to. But you, Amy Pond, are something of an anomaly. Have you ever heard of Torchwood?" Sherlock casually mentioned.

Amy shook her head. Sounded familiar to her, but saying 'no' meant no explaining had to be done by her.

"Well you, and whatever a TARDIS is, are both in that system with restricted access that not even Major Barrymore can access," Sherlock leaned forward with ice in his eyes.

Amy leaned forward to show she wasn't intimidated. If Sherlock Holmes knew who she was, he wouldn't be trying this.

"What happened to not researching people?" Amy asked with a smirk in the corner of her lips.

Sherlock leaned back, "there's no harm in confirming one's suspicions."

"And what exactly do you suspect about me, Sherlock?" Amy was slightly worried, but kept that emotion away from her face.

"It is a mistake to theorize without all the facts," Sherlock responded.

"Well, I'd like to hear your theories," Amy challenged him.

Sherlock was up out of his seat and pacing the room, "You've seen the world. Must have. You've seen death, destruction, heartbreak. All things normal people feel, but you, it's clearly amplified. And yet you've been able to hide those emotions. Even John has shown faces of sadness at dead bodies. But the only indication I've ever seen where emotion has gotten the best of you is the Doctor. Your so-called Doctor, either a codeword, or his profession, is the person you miss. You keep seeing him from the drug. This is the person who died, isn't it? The one you saw die and lost hope of ever seeing alive again. That's why you moved to London."

Amy sat there with her tea lifted in mid air – she was too shocked to take a sip and too shocked to put it back down.

"But I don't know what a TARDIS is, and I really don't know much of your past, which seems irrelevant. The only thing I know of the TARDIS is that it is blue. Whatever this object is, you miss it just as much as you miss this 'Doctor.' Am I right?"

Amy nodded slowly, not looking at Sherlock.

"Now tell me the rest," Sherlock sat down in front of her again.

"No."

Sherlock looked surprised. He had gotten pretty far into uncovering the mystery of Amy Pond that he was confused why she wouldn't reveal the rest of it, "Why not?"

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Because you'll think I'm crazy. Henry Knight crazy."

"People think I'm crazy, but they learn that I'm right. Same goes for Henry. I'm sure I'll understand."

"No, Sherlock," Amy looked at him with desperation. "You won't. You really won't. You haven't seen what I've seen. You won't be able to believe in what I've seen."

Before Sherlock could utter a word, Sherlock's phone beeped. There was a case waiting for him, Amy, and John if they wanted it. The conversation between Amy and Sherlock never continued in the months to come. They became busy with cases. After recovering "The Falls of the Reichenbach," finding a missing person, and putting a criminal in jail, Amy, John and Sherlock had made a name for themselves in the press. For Amy, that benefitted her as a model. One day, she got a call from a modelling agency that wanted to send her to a few cities in the United Kingdom to model. She accepted. So the news began reporting less and less of Amy Pond, the protégé of Sherlock Holmes, because she was making a name of herself in fashion magazines and blogs. She didn't mind the attention of course. In London, however, John was warning Sherlock to lay low.

'_The press always turns_.'

Sitting in a cafe in Cardiff reading the tabloids about Bachelor John and Boffin Sherlock's latest case, she thought she heard a familiar sound. She wasn't sure if the drug was still in her system, but she swore she heard the TARDIS landing. For a few seconds, Amy decided to ignore it, assuming it was still the drug, but Sherlock said it would have been out of her system by now. She quickly paid her bill and went to look for it.

Jogging around the unfamiliar neighbourhood, she looked right and left. She gave up once she realized she was probably hearing something entirely different and began walking back to her hotel room to get ready for the next photo shoot. A second of doubt made her turn back around, to which she accidentally bumped into a blonde woman.

"Oof! Sorry 'bout that!" she apologized.

"Yeah, no. That's fine!" Amy turned around.

"Hey! Aren't you Amy Pond?" the woman was holding a fashion magazine and pointing to the cover.

Amy laughed, "Yep, that's me."

"Would you sign it?" the woman asked politely.

"Sure," Amy grabbed a felt tip pen out of her bag. "Who do I make it out to?"

The woman smiled, "Rose."

Amy took hold of the magazine and wrote a little note. As she was writing, she noticed two words underneath one of the captions: 'bad wolf,' but Amy ignored it and gave the magazine back to Rose.

"Thanks!" Rose beamed.

"Come on, Rose," a man in a leather coat came up to her, and held out his hand, which she happily accepted.

Amy thought that the man looked a little too old for Rose, but she remembered the time when she kissed the 900 year old Doctor. Certainly that man with Rose wasn't anywhere close to 900. Continuing on the direction she was originally headed, Amy thought she saw a man with black curly hair in a long black, wool coat standing beside a shorter man with sandy blonde hair. It wasn't them, of course, but was just one of a few of the indicators telling her that she began to miss the action of solving crimes. During one of her breaks from modelling, she got a call from one of her favourite Doctors.

"Do you think he'll ever stop?" John angrily spoke into the telephone.

Amy rolled her eyes, "What did he say this time?"

John explained Sherlock's inability to not understand human empathy. He also whined about other meaningless things that Amy knew John would eventually pass off like the fact that they always seem to run out of milk – the answer was that Sherlock used much of it to grow bacteria.

"I think the better question is 'do you think he _can _stop?'" Amy chuckled.

"It's not funny," There was momentary silence. "Well?"

"You want my honest opinion?" Amy asked without waiting for a reply. "The day Sherlock Holmes stops, if he can, will be the day we look down on his body on a slab in St. Bart's."

John thought about what Amy said and responded solemnly, "alright, then. Well today's going to be that day because I'm going to kill him!"

They both laughed. Changing his tone of voice, he asked how Amy was and she asked how he and Sherlock were. It was her last day travelling, so she began to pack up her things. Her suitcase was filled with some clothing, but mostly souvenirs. She had a special one for Sherlock: it was _the _hat. The "Sherlock Holmes hat" as it was now dubbed, but she had to add to it. She bought him this wonderful pipe and a magnifying glass, just to add to the humour of it. Leaving the hotel and walking to the train station, a headline on a tabloid stopped her. A new newspaper was on the stands. "The Crime of the Century." Just seconds before she could pick it up, her phone rang.

"Hello?" Amy turned away from the newsstand and towards somewhere much quieter.

"Mother?" It was River.

"River?"

"Mother, I need you to come home now," she had a tone of urgency in her voice that made Amy worried.

"What's the matter? Is something wrong?" Amy asked as she quickly walked to the station.

"I just need you to come, now, please," her daughter implored.

Amy ran to the station, carrying both bags with no difficulty and quickly bought her tickets for the long way home. She arrived in Leadworth the next day with Rory and River waiting for her.

"What's wrong?" Amy hugged Rory and then looked at River, who was placing her finger in her journal.

"When I called you, you saw the tabloids? The 'Crime of the Century?'" River asked in a serious voice.

"Yes, why? What's going on?" Amy faced River.

"Mother, you cannot be in London right now. Especially not now. I know you want to help Sherlock and John, but you cannot be there," River told her.

Amy looked at Rory, but he didn't know what was going on either. All he knew was that his wife was coming back to Leadworth to stay for a while. They all walked into Amy's childhood home. Her parents were gone vacationing so they had the house to themselves. River sat in front of Amy as Rory boiled water for tea in the kitchen.

"I'm really glad you've kept yourself out of the tabloids for a while. Kept yourself distant from Sherlock and John, from that world," River began as Amy listened intently.

"River, what's your point? Why can't I be in London right now? Does this have to Moriarty?" Amy got up, impatient with River's response.

"Spoilers."


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

"Amy, I need you to understand that Moriarty isn't just any criminal. He's unlike anyone you've ever faced," River held Amy's hand as she spoke.

"I've faced Daleks, so I'm certain I can handle Moriarty" Amy chuckled.

River looked on with the most solemn look, "No, mother, this man is Sherlock's number one enemy. His complete opposite. The Dalek to the Doctor. He has the means to kill everyone around him. If the Doctor were here, I don't think he could save you. Most of the cases you've dealt with had Moriarty's name on it. He is a psychopath in every way, shape, and form and he is obsessed with Sherlock."

"What does this have to do with me staying out of London?"

"You've been out of Moriarty's sights for a while, and that's good. There is the trial going on right now, the one to convict Moriarty of his crimes, but he'd threatened the jury and they will find Moriarty not guilty, and he will run free. The more you keep out of Moriarty's sights, the safer you'll be. He has John and Sherlock on his list, we don't need to add you to it."

"But you said he is obsessed with Sherlock, not me," Amy noticed that River's finger was still acting as a placeholder in the diary. "You know what's going to happen in the future, don't you?"

River nodded. Amy realized that her daughter was reciting, rather than just saying. Amy realized that River had practiced this speech because there was so much more that River was hiding from her that would never see the light of day.

"Then tell me, if I am in London, will I be harmed by Moriarty?" Amy looked River dead in the eyes.

River shook her head after pausing for a few seconds, slightly taken aback by the question. In Amy's periphery, she noticed that River's thumb was fingering the pages of her journal.

"Then I have to go back, protect Sherlock!" Amy stood up automatically. "He's going to need me, whether he knows it or not."

"Mother!"

"Daughter!"

"You know this is the thing that the Doctor would tell you not to do! This is not your fight."

"I know," Amy turned around and looked at her daughter with sad eyes. "But I'm going to try and protect my friend. I couldn't save the Doctor, so maybe I can save Sherlock."

River sighed, "Answer me this, then. Do you believe in Sherlock Holmes?"

Amy cocked her head at the question, "What?"

A beeping noise went off on River's vortex manipulator, "Ah, must be off. Another adventure waits!"

"Wait," Amy went up to River and held her arm. "Will I see you again? Soon?"

"Don't worry, mother, you'll be seeing me in," River chose her words carefully. "the Fall. And I'm sorry, but that's when everything changes."

In a few seconds, she disappeared with a zap. Rory appeared with tea. Amy slumped back down into her chair in frustration and drank her tea in silence. For the next few weeks, Amy and Rory went about their things like how a normal, Doctor-free, crimeless, married life would go. It was different – from crime fighting to modelling and eventually to walking around town and just getting groceries. It was certainly slower than what she was use to, but she enjoyed the company of her husband, and the quiet pace of everything made her calmer.

After those few weeks ended, Moriarty's name disappeared from the tabloids and from the public eye. She decided it would be safer to return to London now. It was no use getting information from either John or Sherlock through phone calls or emails because John would give her irrelevant information – stuff she already knew – and Sherlock would say too little and assume she knew it all.

Saying farewell to Rory was not as easy this time seeing as he was substantially worried about his wife's prospects in the hands of a master criminal. Amy reassured him that River promised she would be safe, so there was nothing to worry about. They would take Moriarty down somehow, no matter what it took.

The bus ride to London was nerve wracking for Amy. She had never been so nervous to return to London, and to Sherlock and John. Perhaps it was the idea of Moriarty compared to as a Dalek, or perhaps it was the suspicious questions that would be imposed on Amy from Sherlock about her extended stay in Leadworth that made her nervous. Either way, she was and wasn't looking forward to meeting Sherlock's judgemental stare.

Standing outside 221, she was experiencing a flurry of emotions that she couldn't really explain. It was windy, so she tied her hair up in a bun and put a hat on. Inside she placed her case in her room and began making the trek up to 221b. She opened the door and immediately saw Sherlock curled up in a ball on his chair watching crap telly and John on his laptop. They both turned their heads at the exact same time when they saw Amy at their door. When Sherlock processed the sight of her, he smiled and stood up.

"Amy!" Sherlock's grin was as genuine as could be – he was actually glad to see her.

Amy walked straight to him and gave him a hug, which slightly surprised Sherlock. All her worries and emotions had melted away. She let go and smiled at Sherlock. Amy realized her nervousness came from wondering if Sherlock was safe. Turning towards John, she gave him a hug too. All was well in 221b, and Amy was relieved.

"So how was your trip? Tell me all about it!" John asked.

Sherlock curled back into a ball and continued to yell at the TV. Nothing had changed in Amy's eyes and she couldn't be happier. She went to the kitchen to make some tea before taking a seat by John's side. She opened the fridge and noticed that besides there not being any human body parts, there wasn't any milk.

"John?" Amy called over.

"Yeah?" John looked up from his laptop.

"You're out of milk, again," Amy closed the fridge and leaned on the door.

"Again?" John strained to look at Sherlock. "Seriously, Sherlock. Stop using the milk for your experiments. We actually need the milk to drink."

"Ugh, but hunger is so boring," Sherlock kept his eyes peeled on the television.

John got up, shrugged at Sherlock and looked in his wallet. He hadn't any money for milk, so he put his jacket on and quickly left without a word and leaving the door wide open. Being away from Sherlock and John for such a long time put Amy at a disadvantage. She almost found herself in an awkward and uncomfortable situation just pacing around their apartment.

"How was your trip?" Sherlock asked out of the blue.

"Sherlock Holmes does small talk?" Amy questioned suspiciously.

"Sherlock Holmes is wondering how the trip went," Sherlock responded, now turning off the telly.

"No, I don't think you do," Amy eyed him from across the room.

"Obviously. Well, are you going to answer my question?" Sherlock asked.

"Which one?" Amy was enjoying this game of speaking, but not really talking.

"The one I'm thinking."

Amy deliberated for a moment, "Moriarty?"

He nodded.

"You're wondering why I missed the biggest thing that's happened to you," Amy confidently stated. "You're wondering why instead of returning directly to London after my modelling gig was over, I spent a few weeks in Leadworth."

"Clearly."

"You know you could ask," Amy sat down in front of him in John's chair and crossed her legs. She placed her phone on the arm rest.

"I like the game. You know that," Sherlock responded without moving. "You asked John and me for information about Moriarty when you could have been here."

"Did you," Amy chose her words and tone of voice carefully as not to elicit a response that would end the entire conversation. "Miss me?"

The six seconds that Sherlock used to pause to think made Amy anxious, and she realized that she might have used the wrong tone of voice and expected that the conversation would end soon enough, but surprisingly, Sherlock answered.

"Besides me, you're the only one that can see it."

"Is that a yes?" Amy began to smile at the idea that Sherlock Holmes missed her.

"You can see what Moriarty is doing, can't you?" Sherlock tried to change the subject.

Amy broke out into a smile. Sherlock did miss her.

"Well?" Sherlock was waiting for a response. "Do you see what he's doing?"

"He's playing another elaborate game, so what? You'll take him down, right?" Amy slumped back into the chair.

"No, it's more than that. There's something different. It was cat and mouse last time, this time, it's more than that. He's playing God."

"No, he's playing the Devil," Amy responded.

"Then what am I?" Sherlock asked.

Amy didn't know how to answer that. Sherlock was more than a man, but not quite the Doctor. Not an angel, but not a monster. After a few minutes of contemplating, she found the answer.

"Game changer."

"Game changer?"

"He wants to play a game, right? Well you'll play it two steps ahead. Even if Moriarty thinks he can outsmart you, you'll be the one outsmarting him in the end. You'll change the game to your rules. You have to. You're Sherlock Holmes. You want to win, and you'll do whatever necessary, right?"

"Do you believe in me?" Sherlock asked.

Those words echoed in Amy's mind, both from River and now from Sherlock. Was there some higher significance to that sentence?

"Yes," she responded.

There was a full minute of silence. It was almost like they were staring each other down, but for no apparent reason. Amy and Sherlock were just looking at each other, not necessarily observing, but still thinking. This moment was new for the both of them. Their relationship hit a new level – something of an understanding between the two that Sherlock wasn't even sure he had with John.

"I'm still waiting for an answer to my previous question. Why weren't you here?" Sherlock asked, breaking the silence. "What were you afraid of?"

"I'm obviously not scared of anything, especially since I'm here now."

"What kept you in Leadworth?" Sherlock kept pressing.

"My husband," Amy lied.

"No, he didn't," Sherlock saw through it.

Amy narrowed her eyes. Sherlock narrowed his. She changed the subject.

"What were _you_ doing when I was gone?" Amy asked.

"I was on the computer, mostly," Sherlock spoke the truth.

"Doing what, exactly?" Amy was curious what Sherlock could have been doing for a few weeks spent on the computer, and if she knew Sherlock, it must have been something so important to keep Moriarty off his mind – at least for a while.

The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs paused the conversation. It was Mrs. Hudson.

"There you are, Amy! Do you mind helping me for a little while? There's a cookbook I can't seem to reach" Mrs. Hudson laughed.

Amy obliged and left Sherlock alone. As she entered Mrs. Hudson's flat, she managed to catch a glimpse of an unknown man quickly walking up the staircase heading towards Sherlock's flat. She wasn't sure what to think, but had a weird feeling about him, so she quickly reached for her phone to warn Sherlock. She realized that she left her phone upstairs.

"Be back in a bit, left my phone upstairs," Amy told Mrs. Hudson hurriedly.

Quietly, Amy tiptoed up the stairs. Amy stopped at the top of the stairs and crouched down so that she wouldn't be seen. Luckily, she could hear some conversation going on.

"Sorry, didn't quite catch your name," Sherlock said from the living room.

In an American accent, the man replied, "It's Jack. Captain Jack Harkness."


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Amy held her hand to her mouth in order to keep any noise from escaping. Her heart stopped momentarily when she heard Jack say his name. She knew him – flirted with him – in an aborted timeline, but did he remember her? She grinned widely remembering that memory, as it stood clear and vivid in her mind. She remembered the Doctor scolding the two for just saying "hello," albeit they did so in the most flirtatious way they could. Amy couldn't help it, and neither could Jack.

When Amy left to assist Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock continued to sit in his chair. He took a moment to regain his thoughts, process new information, and prepare for any new questions that was bound to come up. The sound of footsteps quickly walking up the stairs caught Sherlock's attention, but he knew it wasn't Amy, John, or Mrs. Hudson who was making the trek.

A figure emerged in the doorway, and Sherlock turned his head to get a better look. In an instant, he began deducing. He could tell that the man was not there for a case, but not a journalist either. He didn't belong to Moriarty or Mycroft. His attire was slightly outdated, belonging mostly to the 1940's era. Sherlock couldn't place his exact job, or where he worked, but he seemed to be a man who seems lively, but underneath is tired. He'd seen the world, like Amy, but sometimes not by choice.

"Hello! Sorry to intrude, you must be Sherlock Holmes," the man spoke in an American accent and faced Sherlock. "They didn't tell me that you'd be much more good looking in person."

"Can I help you?" a stoic Sherlock responded.

"I need to discuss a matter with you," the man cleared his throat and responded in more a serious fashion while he unconsciously licked his lips.

"What about?" Sherlock didn't look amused.

"A bit of research you've done recently on ..." the man said.

"Sorry, didn't quite catch your name," Sherlock interrupted.

"It's Jack. Captain Jack Harkness. I represent Torchwood Institute," Jack said with a flirtatious smirk.

At the mention of Torchwood, Sherlock understood what the reasoning behind the visit was. Amy, who was still sitting on the stairs hidden away from the two, perked up when she heard Torchwood. The first time Sherlock asked her about Torchwood, it was muddled in her mind. She knew it was connected to the Doctor in some way, but the Doctor never really elaborated on it. With Jack sitting in Sherlock's living room, she began to connect the dots.

"I need to ask you some questions about how and why you've hacked into our systems," Jack sat down in front of Sherlock and got right to it.

Sherlock casually, but a little smugly, responded, "I needed information that you apparently had. And since I couldn't access it in Baskerville, the only logical thing seemed to have been to hack into your system."

Amy wondered what kind of information Sherlock tried to search up in Baskerville and she immediately became nervous.

Jack was about to delve into his questions when Sherlock stopped him, "now that's the only question I'll gladly answer, only because it was too easy to hack into Torchwood. Now I need you to answer some of my questions before you continue. You're clearly here because I got very close to finding out the information I was looking for, but your system shut me down before I could read anything. You're here to find out why I was searching it in the first place, correct?"

Jack thought about it for a few seconds, but nodded reluctantly. Jack had read about Sherlock Holmes, and knew he was a genius of sorts, so he prepared himself for that.

"What is Torchwood?" Sherlock started.

After a few seconds of deliberation Jack replied, "We defend humanity against possible threats."

"Do you see me as a threat?" Sherlock leaned forward with ice in his eyes.

"You tell me," Jack also leaned forward, meeting Sherlock's gaze. Jack caught his breath looking into Sherlock's hauntingly beautiful eyes. "If you did successfully hack into the network, into the files, what were you going to do with the information?"

"Nothing, actually. It would be stored in my brain. Information to be used in context. I honestly doubt that what I was searching would be that big of a deal," Sherlock laughed.

"Well I'm here, so yes, it is a big deal. How did you even come upon those topics?" Jack asked.

"How is that relevant?"

"No one just hacks into Torchwood and inputs three of the most classified files in our system. No one just searches the TARDIS, the Doctor, and Amy Pond on a whim," Jack was getting close to losing his nerve. He took a breath. "So then, what do you know?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, "There is a man. An actual doctor, perhaps. Missed by my friend. Another thing is this ... TARDIS. I don't know what it is though and what connection it has to her or the Doctor. Who is this man? And what is a TARDIS?"

It took her a few seconds to realize it, but Amy found that she was holding her breath. Her palms were sweaty and her heart was racing. Was Sherlock Holmes about to find out the truth about Amy Pond - the girl that didn't make sense? She still found it weird and unnerving to hear how close Sherlock had unlocked her past, but was terrified to see what would happen when the truth was fully unraveled. She was praying that Jack wouldn't reveal anything.

"Who's your source for this information?" Jack ignored his questions.

Seeing Jack ignore Sherlock's questions made Amy feel incredible relief – she wasn't sure if she was ready for Sherlock to know about that part of her life just yet.

"Amy?" Amy heard Mrs. Hudson call from downstairs.

Quickly and quietly, Amy raced downstairs to stop Mrs. Hudson from calling her and thus revealing her presence.

"Does that matter?" Sherlock replied to Jack's question.

"Yes. Maybe. Perhaps the person who told you this stuff is the actual threat. Perhaps we'll have to detain the person who has been telling you this information."

"That's very unlikely to happen, Captain," Sherlock said defensively.

"And why's that?"

Before Sherlock could answer, a phone rang. The phone was sitting on the arm rest of the chair that Jack was sitting on, but he wasn't sure what to do with it. Luckily for him, the owner popped into the flat to retrieve it. Jack immediately stood up.

He stuttered, "Oh my, you're Amy Pond."

Downstairs, Amy finally helped Mrs. Hudson grab the book she couldn't reach, and cunningly came up with a plan to get herself into Sherlock's flat. She decided to call her own phone, thus giving herself an excuse to grab her phone.

"Yes, and you are?" Amy acted as if she didn't know him, and she hoped that if Jack remembered her in the timeline that never was, he'd act his part and pretend he didn't know her – whether that would trick Sherlock was the ultimate goal.

"Oh, well, you can call me Jack," Jack flirtatiously smiled and shook her hand.

Amy began acting like a tease as Jack stood there, equally enjoying her presence. Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows and looked on at their interaction.

"Amy? Your phone?" Sherlock grabbed the still ringing phone and gave it to her.

Amy tore her eyes away from Jack and got her phone. When she returned her gaze to him, she noticed that Jack had a confused expression on his face.

"Wait a minute. You're not one of his clients?" Jack asked.

Amy shook her head and looked at Sherlock, "I live downstairs. We're flatmates? Friends?"

"Well, then, I think I'm done here. May I speak with you in private?" Jack asked Amy politely.

"Sure," Amy agreed.

"Mr. Holmes, it was very nice to have met you, thank you for your time," Jack shook Sherlock's hand and walked out the door, with Amy taking a quick glance at a confused Sherlock before following Jack down the stairs.

When she knew she was out of earshot, Amy asked, "Do you remember me?"

"In the timeline that never happened? Of course, we're time travelers," Jack laughed. "It's really great to see you."

"Back there, I thought you really didn't know me," Amy said to a laughing Jack.

"How can anyone forget you?" Jack opened the front door and they both stood outside. "Have you been telling Sherlock of the Doctor, and your travels with him?"

"No, I've been avoiding it actually. It's just that I've been having moments where my past is starting to unravel," Amy honestly told him. "He knows nothing. Just bits and pieces that he'll probably never connect."

"Well," Jack started, but was interrupted by Amy.

"By being here, even just talking about Torchwood is making Sherlock question me more than I want him too. Why did you really come here? All that stuff about him being a threat, that's just a lie to hide the truth. You knew he wasn't going to be a threat. Sure, his name is in the tabloids, but spilling information about anything not related to a case isn't how Sherlock works," Amy was slightly irritated with Jack.

"Your daughter," Jack conceded.

"What about my daughter? And since when do you know her?"

"That saucy little minx? I've tried to borrow her vortex manipulator, but she's good, she won't let me have it," Jack changed the subject. "She thought it would be a good idea for me to come here, question him, make it feel like an interrogation. Make him question you more."

"Why?" Amy eyed him suspiciously.

"Well I owed her a favour, so ..."

"No, I mean why did she feel that he should know now?" Amy asked. "You realize there is a big possibility that he's hacking back into Torchwood right now. Your visit just ignited another spark in him."

"You should ask River. Just like the Doctor, she has her reasons. Maybe something's going to happen and he would need to know about this? Why don't you just tell him? Tell him about the Doctor, and the TARDIS, and you."

"Why didn't _you_ tell him? You know all about that."

"He doesn't trust me, and it's not in my place to tell," Jack placed his hands on her arms. "Amy. You haven't figured it out? All of this research is because you won't tell him. He just wants to complete the puzzle so he can rest. He's not going to use the information otherwise. Just tell him."

"I can't," Amy looked away.

"What are you afraid of?" Jack lifted her chin.

"It's too painful. The Doctor is dead," Amy told him.

"No, that's not it. You're proud of the Doctor. You're proud of the travels and the stories. You _want_ to tell Sherlock, but what?" Jack could easily assess her.

"Sherlock Holmes is a consulting detective. He lives off of solvable puzzles and riddles. He uses the smallest details to produce a life story. Sometimes he needs help – though, he doesn't always admit it – but he'll always figure it out in the end. I wonder why he hasn't figured out my past, and maybe I don't want him to. The moment he thinks about the impossible, the moment he figures me out, I'm afraid that he'll do what he always does with a finished case: he moves on and never looks back. Everything he solves becomes ordinary. I can see what he sees and he knows that. I think that's why he keeps me around, but if I'm ordinary in his eyes, he wouldn't need me anymore. He has John, so what will I be to him? Will I still be a friend? Or just another ordinary person in a sea of ordinary people?" Tears were flowing down Amy's cheeks. "I can't be another ordinary person. I just can't. Not to him."

Jack took her into his arms and held on, "Amy, you'll never be ordinary. And if Sherlock Holmes ever makes you feel ordinary, then he's ... well he's an idiot."

Amy laughed at that.

"You have to tell him, not just for his sake but for yours. Tell him the story of Amelia Pond. He won't regret it and you won't either," Jack looked deep into her eyes. "Now, it's time for me to leave. Think about it? Alright?"

Amy nodded, smiled, and wiped the tears off her face. Soon, a cab pulled up and Jack opened the door.

"It was a pleasure meeting you again Amy Pond. I can see why he made you one of his most trusted companions," Jack took her hand and kissed it. "And I'm not just talking about the Doctor."

Amy watched as Jack disappeared. She walked up to Sherlock's flat with thoughts running through her mind. Whether it was River's idea or Jack's words, it was enough for her to make a decision. By the time she got to Sherlock and John's flat, she made up her mind. Opening the door, she realized she was correct in that Sherlock was trying to hack back into Torchwood. She closed the lid of the laptop.

"Hey!" Sherlock yelled.

"Come here and sit down, I've got to tell you something," Amy said as she sat in John's spot.

Obligingly, Sherlock sat down. He knew something was up, maybe a revelation in Amy's mind. He narrowed his eyes and began to deduce at a faster pace than ever before. His head tilted just slightly to one side when he figured it out.

"You're going to tell me. Aren't you?" there was a slight smile coming from the corner of Sherlock's mouth.

Amy sighed, "Well thanks to Jack's appearance, it almost seems like you won't stop looking if I don't. And if you hack into Torchwood again, you might get into even more trouble."

Like a little boy, Sherlock leaned in attentively, ready to learn the secrets that Amy has been guarding for so long.

"Wait, where's John? He's been gone for ages," Amy looked around then at Sherlock. "I might as well tell him too."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sat back into his chair. Amy was about to phone him when they both heard a pair of footsteps going up the stairs. In a matter of seconds, Lestrade popped his head into the flat.

"I have a case for you."

"Not now!" Sherlock yelled.

"Come in, Lestrade," Amy welcomed him in after rubbing her ear – Sherlock's yell was louder than she expected.

"But!" Sherlock whined.

"Case first, then I'll tell you!" Amy shot him a look and then glanced at the DI.

"Promise?" Sherlock asked

"I promise," Amy nodded.

Sherlock walked towards Lestrade and Sally, "Fine. Call John. Get him here, now."

Amy nodded and whipped out her phone, "John? Not to rush you, but you should get here quick. We have a case."


	19. Chapter 19

_Sorry for the delayed update! School is unfortunately taking a lot of time away from writing, so the next few chapters may take a little while to continue the story, but thanks for your patience :)_

* * *

**Chapter 19**

"Sherlock, there's something weird ...," John was coming up the stairs, but found himself being interrupted by the flurry of action that was happening in the flat. "What's going on?"

Quickly, Sherlock took a seat in front of the computer.

Amy looked up from reading Sally's files and responded, "kidnapping."

"Rufus Bruhl, the ambassador to the U.S., his children Max and Claudette have vanished," Lestrade explained.

"They're at St. Aldate's," Sally piped up. "A posh boarding place down in Surrey."

"The school broke up, all the other boarders went home – just a few kids remained, including those two. The ambassador's asked for you personally," Lestrade directed the latter part at Sherlock.

"The Reichenbach Hero," Sally said with a tone of disdain in her voice.

Sherlock was already on his feet and out the door. Knowing no one was going to stop Sherlock, they all followed him out of the flat.

"Isn't it great to be working with a celebrity?" Lestrade excitedly mentioned to Sally.

The car ride to the boarding school was mainly quiet. Lestrade made awkward attempts at small talk with everyone, though with Sally disinterested in Sherlock, Sherlock staring at his phone, and John reading the file, it was left to Amy to respond to Lestrade complete with uncomfortable smiling – it didn't help that Amy was squished in between John and Sherlock in the backseat.

Getting out, Lestrade prepped Sherlock for the house mistress. Following only steps behind, Amy could see that Sherlock's stride meant he wanted information fast and he was going to do something drastic to get it. John stopped to talk to some of the witnesses.

"What are you? An idiot, a drunk, or a criminal?" Sherlock whipped the blanket off of the house mistress' shoulders. "Now quickly, tell me!"

"All the doors and windows were properly bolted. No one, not even me, went into their room last night. You have to believe me!" she replied as she continued to cry.

"I do, I just wanted you to speak quickly," Sherlock said reassuringly. "Miss Mackenzie will need to breathe into a bag now."

Amy covered her face with her hand in embarrassment for Sherlock when she noticed people looking. John, Amy, Lestrade, and Sally followed Sherlock to see where the kids slept. They checked the girl's room first, and then the boy's. It was here where Sherlock really got to work.

"The boy sleeps there every night, gazing at the only light source outside the corridor. He'd recognize every shape, every outline, the silhouette of everyone who came to the door," Sherlock began to explain.

"Okay, so...," Lestrade wondered where this was going, luckily Amy was able to explain.

"If someone came to door, like an intruder. Maybe he can even see the outline of a weapon," Amy explained as Sherlock quickly demonstrated outside. "But what could the boy do before they came into the room?"

Sherlock was already sniffing around the area, looking at the possessions, "This little boy, who reads all of those spy books, what would he do?"

"He'd leave a sign?" John piped up.

Sherlock noticed a particular scent, and picked up a cricket bat. Using that as a clue, he searched for what he knew he would find – a bottle of linseed oil.

"Get Anderson."

As the team began shutting the blinds, covering any source of light, John managed to get in a word with Amy.

"How could anyone get in? Especially if everything was locked and bolted? He couldn't have just walked in," John wondered.

Amy looked at Sherlock milling about in the room, "But he did. Yesterday was the end of term. And with a boarding school like this, there would be parents, chauffeurs, staff – you know, the rich lot of them. Who says another stranger among a sea of strangers would mean anything? All he had to do was pick the right moment and wait."

John nodded, signalling that he understood what she was saying, and then helped with the set up. Soon, it was dark and Amy found herself with a UV lamp in one hand.

"Linseed oil," Sherlock was facing the wall that read 'help us.'

Anderson was about to speak when Amy interrupted him, pointing at the ground with her lamp, "Sherlock, there's a trail of footsteps."

"There's the boy's footsteps. On tip-toe, indicates anxiety – probably from having a gun held to his head. Then the girl's, being pulled, dragged sideways," Sherlock was in the darkened hallway explaining this to everyone.

"That's the end of it. We don't know where they went from here. Tells us nothing at all," Anderson stupidly remarked.

"You're right, Anderson. Nothing," Sherlock took a breath. "Except his shoe size, his height, his gait, his walking pace."

Sherlock tore the blackout material that was placed to block the window, letting sunlight flood into the hallway. Not a moment too soon was he crouched down on the floor with tools in his hand. Amy gave her lamp to Anderson. John went to kneel by Sherlock.

"Having fun?" Josh asked.

"Starting to," Sherlock smiled.

"Maybe don't do the smiling," John mentioned. "Kidnapped children?"

Sherlock continued scraping at the floor with his scalpel. Once John left, Amy took his place.

"It's Moriarty, isn't it?" She asked in a hushed tone.

"Of course," Sherlock responded without emotion.

Amy sighed, "Might want to go and get your samples from the room. There may be more residue on the bottom of the man's shoe than here."

"Thank you, Amy," Sherlock didn't look up.

Amy went to go take another look around. If it was Moriarty, he would have left clues. What kind of psychopath who yearns for Sherlock's attention wouldn't? She went back to the girl's room first. There was nothing out of the ordinary that she could see, except for when she checked the trunk. She noticed the envelope first. She remembered Sherlock taking it out and looking at it for a few seconds. Really looking in the trunk, she could understand why. All the books the girl owned were unwrapped, clearly used, and yet this one was still in its envelope. She took the book out. _Grimm's Fairy Tales._ She picked up the other books in her trunk and looked at the first few pages. Each had the girl's name in it. Of course, when a girl is sleeping in a room with other girls, she wouldn't want anything to go missing, especially at their age. She looked at the book of fairy tales again – no name. She put the book back in the envelope. Amy noticed the seal had a magpie on it. There was no significance to all of this yet, but it did confirm that it had to be Moriarty. Walking back to Sherlock, she saw that he was ready to leave.

"Where now?" Amy asked.

"St. Bart's," Sherlock turned away and began walking. "We've called for a cab. Should be here soon."

In the cab, Amy was the first to speak, "The book. Grimm's Fairy Tales. Isn't that one of his biggest clues? Well besides IOU." Amy was about to ramble on when Sherlock stopped her.

"What do you know about 'IOU'?"

"You said he came here, saying he owed you. He carved it into an apple," Amy's memory flashed back to the apple with the smiley face that the Doctor once kept. She laughed.

"What?"

"Uh," Amy thought quickly. "Are you sure he wasn't saying 'I love you?' I mean, he clearly thinks that you two were meant for each other. And it is difficult carving an 'o' in an apple."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. There was a moment of silence.

"So all three of us are here," Sherlock mentioned. "Amy, why don't you tell us what you were about to say at the flat? You know, before Lestrade and Sally arrived."

"Sherlock, there are better times," Amy said. "Focus on the case. I will keep my promise."

Sherlock looked out the window. John sat there listening, trying to process information that might be useful to him. He didn't know what Sherlock meant with his last remark, but shook the thought away. Sherlock remained silent the rest of the way, and Amy didn't know if that meant she should speak or if she should silently theorize about the case. She chose silence. As soon as they got to the hospital, Sherlock headed to a vending machine to get some crisps. They managed to catch Molly leaving.

"Molly!" Sherlock enthusiastically called out.

"Oh, hello. I'm just going out."

Sherlock put his hands in his coat and dramatically pulled out two bags of crisps, "no you're not. You're having lunch with me."

"What?" Sherlock was walking Molly back the way she came.

"Need your help," Sherlock smiled and walked through the doors, leaving Molly a bit bewildered, and Amy and John rolling their eyes.

Molly walked after him, followed by Amy and John. As soon as they reached the lab, Amy and John stood to the side watching Sherlock go – it didn't help that Amy wasn't particularly into the science, and John, well, John wasn't really sure what Sherlock was up to. Sherlock instructed Molly to get some books, and Amy offered to help.

"What's this case about, now?" Molly asked as she held some books.

Amy balanced the books on her one hand as she reached for the door knob, "Kidnapped kids, trying to find them, Moriarty. Another day for Sherlock."

"Moriarty? Like Jim?"

"Yep, one and the same," Amy smirked. "You went out with him, right?"

"Well I ended it," Molly looked slightly ashamed as they walked down the hallway.

"Mm, did he say anything to you? Anything out of the ordinary?"

"No, he was just very interested in what I did, and who I worked with," Molly replied. "I guess when I did mention Sherlock, he did get a bit more interested."

Molly used her back to open up the door to the lab, and they both set down the books. Amy asked if she needed anything, but she declined. Molly began getting set to help Sherlock. Sherlock was heavily concentrated with the sample he was looking at through the microscope, and if there was thing Amy was sure of, it was to never bother Sherlock unless she had information that was useful. Sherlock was dissecting the footprint, and he needed to muster up all his scientific information to aid him. Amy went to John.

"If it's Moriarty, he's going to want to kill Sherlock, right? I mean, he almost did at," John swallowed. "The pool."

"He can't. Sherlock's like a household name. His name is everywhere in the press. Don't you remember what Sherlock said? Dead men get listened to."

She realized that suicide could be an answer, but she knew that Sherlock would never commit such an act under his own free will. Amy looked at him – he was talking to Molly – and knew that if his life had to end, it couldn't be through suicide, it just didn't suit him. She pushed the disturbing thought away and took a look at the crime scene photos with John.

"Wait," John pointed to the seal. "I've seen that before."

"What?" Amy asked. "Where?"

"Sherlock, that envelope in her trunk. There's another one," John walked over to where his jacket was sitting and pulled out a small brown envelope.

Sherlock walked towards him and Amy, "What?"

"On our doorstep, found it today. And look at that, exactly the same seal," John handed the envelope to Sherlock.

"Breadcrumbs," Sherlock fingered through the contents of the envelope.

"Uh huh, it was there when I got back," John mentioned.

"It's Hansel and Gretel," Amy spoke louder than usual when she figured it out. "The breadcrumbs, fairy tales, the two children. He really was leaving us clues."

"What sort of kidnapper would leave clues?" John questioned.

"The sort that likes to boast, the sort that thinks it's all a game," Sherlock paused, and Amy realized that he figured something out. "The witch's house. Glycerol molecule."

"What?" John asked.

"PGPR!" Sherlock shouted.

"What's that?" Amy asked.

"It's used in making chocolate," Sherlock quickly walked over to where his coat was and grabbed it, swiftly putting it on and headed out the door.

Amy and John followed him as hurriedly as they could. Amy realized that she left her coat in the lab and went back to grab it. Molly was in the lab cleaning up.

"New development in the case, sorry we couldn't help clean up," Amy explained.

"Oh, that's fine," Molly said sheepishly. "It's all fine."

Amy went through the doors and ran down the hallway, avoiding most of the staff as best she could, but accidentally crashing into someone at the last corner. Papers flew everywhere.

"Oh, sorry!" Amy said, recovering her breath.

"It's no problem," the woman said as Amy helped her gather the papers strewn over the floor.

"Sorry again...," Amy looked down at her nametag on her lab coat. "Martha. Right. Gotta run!"

Amy ended up at the front with Sherlock impatiently waiting for her and John trying to keep Sherlock still. She got in the cab, and immediately found themselves driving toward Scotland Yard.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

"Lestrade! We'll be there in ten minutes," Sherlock yelled into his phone.

John and Amy were squished in the backseat of the cab beside Sherlock. The traffic was abysmal, and there wasn't any time to waste. Sherlock was getting antsy, and that made Amy nervous. As soon as Sherlock hung up, he began texting furiously. Amy took a quick peek at the people he was texting and realized that he was contacting his homeless network. Before they knew it, they were out of the cab and walking with Lestrade.

"This fax arrived an hour ago," Lestrade gave Sherlock the sheet who then passed it behind for Amy and John to see.

"What have you got for us?" Sherlock handed over his information to Lestrade.

"Need to find a place in the city where all five of these things intersect," Sherlock said as they paused for a moment, but kept walking on – there was no time to stay still with dying kidnapped children somewhere in the city.

"Chalk, asphalt, brick dust, vegetation ... what the hell is this? Chocolate?" Lestrade questioned.

"I think we're looking for a disused sweet factory," Sherlock said.

Amy walked over to the windows, seeing as Sherlock was clearly handling it all. She looked outside, but noticed a woman's red hair in the reflection. She turned around, glanced at Sherlock who was searching his mind for the building, and then looked at the woman. Amy could spot that the woman with hair as red as her was a temp. The way she was watching the commotion around the station gave it away. There was something odd about her that Amy couldn't place.

"Addlestone!" Sherlock yelled.

"What?!"

"There's a mile of disused factories between the river and the park. It matches everything!" Sherlock explained.

"Right, come on!" Lestrade got people up and on their feet after a moment of hesitation. "Donna! Keep your eyes on the phone. Any updates, you send it directly to Sergeant Donovan."

Amy looked at the red head named Donna, who was nodding rapidly at Lestrade's command. Amy jogged over to where John, Sherlock and Lestrade were.

"A minute and twenty seconds," John looked at his watch and then to Amy. "Amazing."

"John," Sherlock looked back at him.

"Sorry," John cleared his throat and then smiled at Amy. "I never get tired of that."

Amy, Sherlock, and John got into the car that Lestrade was driving. Lestrade explained what they were going to do once they got into the building. Sally handed them each a flashlight. Soon enough, they arrived at the building and began rushing in.

"Okay, spread out, please. Spread out!" Sally instructed.

Sherlock and John went one way, and Amy went another. From far away, she could hear Sherlock yell out that the kids were still in the building. In a matter of moments, and from the opposite direction, Amy could hear Sally. Sally found them. Alive. There was an ambulance waiting outside, and the kids were brought to it.

"Are they alright?" Amy jogged to Sally, watching as the ambulance departed.

"The boy's unconscious. The girl seems fine," Sally responded, while gazing back and forth at the scene, Lestrade and at Amy.

"Where now?"

Sally became more focused, "we're going to go back, question the girl. Get some answers. Unless the Freak knows something that we don't."

Sally got into the car, leaving Amy outside waiting for Sherlock and John. The fact that Sally called Sherlock 'freak' to her face stung a little. Amy couldn't understand why people couldn't see past the fact that although Sherlock didn't have the typical social graces, he was still brilliant and shouldn't be ostracized.

"Donna, any news? Phone calls? Anything?" Lestrade asked as he walked past her desk.

"Nope, none," Donna clicked her pen a few times. "Nah, wait! There's one!"

Lestrade stopped in his tracks and walked back, Sherlock, John and Amy followed.

"What is it?" Lestrade waited for her.

"Ah, never mind," Donna looked down at her note.

"What is it?" Lestrade persisted.

"Your doctor," Donna gave him the note.

"Doctor? Donna," Lestrade walked away a bit peeved and shaking his head, followed by Sherlock and John.

Amy slowly followed, but smiled at Donna. There was this moment where Amy thought that Donna had a revelation in her mind – possibly remembering something – but both Amy and Donna shook it off. Donna continued working, and Amy followed Sherlock. About half an hour passed by of waiting outside the interrogation room. It was silent between the trio, mainly because night had fallen quickly.

"Right, then. The professionals have finished," she emphasized the word 'professionals' before continuing. "If the amateurs want to go in and have their turn."

"Now, remember, she's in shock and she's just seven years old, so anything you can do to...," Lestrade began.

"Not be myself?" Sherlock asked.

Amy smirked to herself. Sherlock led the group as he walked in the room first. Amy went in second and noticed the girl hunched over, obviously tired and not wanting to talk to anyone. She wasn't sure this was even a good idea seeing how miserable the child was. But knowing Sherlock, this didn't even matter.

"Claudette, I..." Sherlock reached out to her.

In a matter of seconds, Claudette began to scream and pointed at Sherlock. Amy immediately reached for Sherlock's arm and pulled him away.

"Claudette, listen to me," Sherlock tried to talk over her, pulling away from Amy, but Claudette kept screaming and pointing at him.

"Out. Get out!" Lestrade yelled, to which Amy obliged by pulling him out of the room.

Amy led Sherlock to the nearest office, but farthest away from the interrogation room. Sherlock immediately walked straight to the wall of windows facing away from everyone else.

"It makes no sense," John was the first to talk once Lestrade and Sally came in.

Amy kept silent and observed Lestrade and Sally.

"The kid's traumatised. Something about Sherlock reminds her of the kidnapper," Lestrade said.

Amy noticed that Sally slightly perked up. Her posture changed, and no one else in the room noticed it.

'_Oh no,' _Amy thought to herself.

There was a moment of silence.

"Well, don't let it get to you. I always feel like screaming when you walk into a room. In fact, so do most people," Lestrade half joked.

Amy jeered at him. She looked at Sherlock and noticed his head slightly tilted to the side. He either deduced something new, or saw something he was – or wasn't – supposed to see.

"Come on," Lestrade led everyone, but Sherlock and Sally, out.

"Brilliant work you did, finding those kids from just a footprint. It's really amazing," Sally said to Sherlock.

Amy was just a few paces away, but was close enough to hear the conversation.

"Thank you."

Sally's voice and expression changed to utmost seriousness, "unbelievable."

Amy shook her head. She knew what was going to happen. Taking into consideration the earlier events, she knew doubt made its way into Sally's mind. Doubt was a powerful thing – Amy experienced this when the Doctor appeared and then disappeared. Everyone told her he wasn't real, but she didn't doubt for a second that he wasn't, and she would have to do the same at this moment. She'd fight against everyone's words once more, just to prove that in the end, Sherlock is right. Sherlock hesitated a moment, but continued walking. He ended up outside with Amy and John waiting for him. John hailed a cab.

"You okay?" Amy asked.

"Thinking," Sherlock responded with no emotion.

The cab pulled up, but Sherlock insisted that he take it alone. Amy shrugged it off and John called for another cab. They both got in.

"I honestly can't believe Sherlock," John spoke aloud.

"What do you mean? You can't believe the fact that he figured out where the kids were from a footprint, or just him in general?" Amy focused her eyes on the road and the cab – Sherlock's cab – in front, thus not particularly concentrating on what she was saying.

John hesitated, "both."

"Well, it's really not hard to believe that Sherlock was able to find them. Honestly, I could have done the same thing. You could too. You just have to think rationally and logically about the situation. It's all science," Amy said, still keeping her eyes ahead.

"Really?" John didn't believe her.

"Mhmm," Amy looked at him. "He's just done it so many times that it's engrained in his brain. That's why he can do it so fast."

"Then how do you do it?" John asked. "I know you say you're not up to Sherlock's standards, but you're damn well close.

Amy laughed, and not censoring what she was saying, she spoke, "You break the Doctor's rules."

Amy stopped and realized what she said, and then she looked at John, who looked back at her, "Who's this Doctor, now?"

"Oh, uh, nobody," Amy noticed that the cab had slowed and stopped at an intersection.

Amy and John watched as a group of people walked aimlessly across the street through the crosswalk. The cabbie continued, but Amy found that they weren't following Sherlock's cab anymore. John continued talking to Amy, but the topic changed. They found themselves engrossed in an interesting topic of their childhood, but immediately stopped when the cab turned the corner and they saw Sherlock standing beside a body with three bullet holes in his chest.

"Sherlock!" John was the first to get out of the cab and ran towards him.

Amy had her phone ready and called for an ambulance. She walked up to Sherlock asking for details, and soon enough, an ambulance arrived, carrying the dead body on a stretcher. Looking at him, Amy got bored. Luckily for her, the cab that she was in was still there – still waiting to be paid – so she got in and sat down.

"You alright?" the cabbie asked.

"Yeah, fine," Amy held her hand to her head. "Just bored."

"Bored? Someone got shot, and you're bored," the cabbie scoffed and turned back around.

Amy rolled her eyes and looked at Sherlock and John. Eventually they made their way back to the cab and back to Baker Street. There was something in their flat, and Sherlock was going to find it by searching the dust. Amy and John stood there watching, not particularly understanding what was happening. All that they were observing was Sherlock scampering about in the flat touching and sliding his fingers over every possible surface. The bell rang. John went to go fetch whoever was at the front door.

Lestrade and John walked in, and Sherlock didn't even turn his head slightly before talking, "No, Inspector"

"What?" Lestrade was confused, he hadn't spoken a word.

"The answer's no," Sherlock stepped down and Amy noticed the camera he was holding in his hands.

"But you haven't heard the question," Lestrade insisted.

"You want to take me to the station. Just saving you the trouble of asking. It was the scream. Wasn't it?" Sherlock looked at Amy, who nodded slightly, and then at Lestrade.

"Yeah."

"Who was it? Donovan? I bet it was Donovan. Am I somehow responsible for the kidnapping? Ah, Moriarty is smart. He planted that doubt in her head. That little nagging sensation. Amy knew. She saw Donovan change. Not many people are strong enough to resist. You can't kill an idea, can you? Not once it's made a home ...," Sherlock tapped his finger on Lestrade's forehad. "There."

"Well, you can try to ignore it. Push it as far away as you can. I mean, God knows I've tried. But this one. Moriarty is making it difficult," Amy said to Lestrade as Sherlock walked away from Lestrade and sat down at his desk.

"I'm not coming with you. It's a game, Lestrade, and not one I'm willing to play," Sherlock interrupted before Lestrade could speak.

Lestrade left, leaving John watching the window and Sherlock still on the laptop. Watching both of them, Amy found significance in the question that she was asked: 'Do you believe in Sherlock Holmes?' River asked first and then Sherlock himself, but she stayed true to her answer. John turned around and was about to speak, but before he could, Amy's phone rang.

"Hello?" Amy answered.

"Ms. Pond, I'd like to have a word with you. In person," Mycroft spoke.

Amy looked outside and noticed a car with tinted windows waiting outside. She realized she did have things to ask Mycroft.

"I'm on my way."


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

Amy arrived at the Diogenes club and found Mycroft sitting in his usual place. She took a seat in front of him.

"Why am I here, exactly?" Amy spoke first.

"Why was Captain Jack Harkness visiting my brother?" Mycroft got right to it.

Amy eyed him suspiciously, "he hacked into Torchwood."

"And they denied him access, yes..."

"Wait, how do you know this?"

"I was there," Mycroft outright stated.

"Where?"

"Torchwood," Mycroft pressed his lips tight.

Amy immediately became nervous and Mycroft obviously picked up on this.

"Does Sherlock know? About any of it?" Mycroft asked.

_'Does Mycroft know?'_ Amy thought to herself as she found herself in an uncomfortable position. Mycroft used the silence as a no to his question and used his own deducing skills to his advantage to answer Amy's.

"Yes, Amy, I know what you're thinking and I do know. All of it," Mycroft sighed. "Everything about your precious Doctor, time travel, the TARDIS, and, of course, your daughter."

Amy's mouth gaped opened, and a bit of air escaped her lungs. She immediately felt as if she was experiencing heart palpitations. It was literally as if her body stopped functioning so as not to hear what Mycroft was going to say. But it was not to be.

"You have an interesting past, Amy Williams. Though that's not to say that you're the first time traveller I've met, but you are the first to be in cohorts with my brother," Mycroft spoke calmly. "There were and are many, and some don't even know it yet."

"Uh ... wh- ...y-" Amy tried to form words but failed.

She remembered Mycroft saying that he occupied a "small" position in the British government, but clearly, this wasn't true. Sherlock was right – Mycroft may as well be the British government.

"Don't worry Mrs. Williams. There's nothing to worry about. It's all confidential. How is your daughter?" Mycroft hit a nerve in Amy.

"Y-you. What?!" Amy was almost yelling.

Amy took a breath and calmed herself down, "No. I. You. You're not respecting any of my privacy."

"I think that privacy was taken away when you began working with Sherlock Holmes."

"Is this why you wanted me here? To expose the fact that you apparently know about me?"

"No, I wanted to ask," Mycroft paused for a moment. "Have you read the newspaper?"

"I'm sorry," Amy leaned forward in utter confusion and her voice began getting louder and louder. "We were just talking about my past and the fact that you know about bloody time travel and THE DOCTOR. Why are we talking about the newspaper?"

"Amy, please."

"Yes! I've read the newspaper! What?! Is there a column about some alien, or something?" Amy leaned back in a huff.

"Do you believe what's written about Sherlock?" Mycroft asked calmly.

"No! I don't read that. It's all rubbish. Tabloids, the gossip columns, that kind of newspaper. I've learned to avoid reading about oneself. It's not good for anybody," Amy waved him off, but sat up with a sense of realization. "Why?"

"Something's going to happen, and if I know my brother, he will do something drastic. I wanted to ask ..." Mycroft paused. "Do you know what will happen? In the future?"

"What did you mean other time travellers?" Amy asked, ignoring the question.

Mycroft sighed and looked away momentarily, probably thinking about what to reveal and what to keep a secret, "There are others like you. And we've also been keeping surveillance on them."

"Who?" Amy wanted this information that the Doctor never revealed to her.

"You've met most of them," Mycroft stated plainly.

Amy was gobsmacked, "what? When!?"

Mycroft picked up his suitcase and took out a folder, and he took out a surveillance photo of Amy in Cardiff signing an autograph for a fan, "Do you remember her?"

Amy looked closely, "Her name... Rose?"

"You are correct. You see the man behind her?"

Amy looked even more closely, and then Mycroft spoke, "that's the Doctor."

Amy dropped the picture, stunned at what Mycroft said, "What?"

"Not the one you know. An earlier representation," Mycroft gave the folder and its contents to Amy. "Each photo has a Doctor's companion that you've bumped into or had an interaction with."

She looked through each photo, taking a look at each name and trying to remember the scene. There was Donna the temp at Scotland Yard, Martha the doctor at St. Bart's, and of course, Jack Harkness.

"Why didn't he tell me?" Amy whispered to herself.

"Each of his companions have left, do you think it's really in him to relive 900 years worth of memories? It's painful," Mycroft responded to the question she didn't quite think he would answer.

"So why didn't you ask Jack? Or whichever time traveller you also happen to know?" Amy crossed her arms, going back to the earlier question.

"They don't know either. And they have no way of teleporting to the future. But your daughter does."

"She won't tell me."

"I know," Mycroft looked down. "But is there anyway you've picked up on something? Anything from when you last saw Melody?"

"You really need my help, don't you?"

Mycroft stared at her with ice in his eyes. She realized that Mycroft and Sherlock had the same look when she asks if they need help – a sort of reluctance that would never be spoken out loud.

"Can you tell me that Sherlock knows nothing of my past, at least, for now?"

Mycroft nodded.

"Can you tell me what Sherlock is doing?"

Mycroft laughed, "Who knows what's going inside that brain. I'm sure even God doesn't even know."

"I told him that he'll change the game, whatever game that Moriarty is playing, doing whatever means necessary to achieve his victory," Amy scanned Mycroft for any reaction. "He has something planned, I think, but I don't know what it is. Do you know ..."

"You think that because Sherlock and I are family, he'll tell me everything? We're not that kind of family," Mycroft chuckled. "There is a reason why I've asked if you've seen the future."

"He'll need your help. Like how you need mine right now," Amy stared straight into his eyes without breaking her glance.

Mycroft narrowed his eyes. Whether or not that confirmed that Sherlock did in fact ask of if Mycroft couldn't believe that Amy would go so far as to say that Sherlock would need help was a mystery to him.

"You are right. Knowing your brother," Amy swallowed – it was hard to picture them as brothers growing up together – and continued. "He will probably do something drastic. I can't anticipate what it'll be, not even my own daughter will tell me, but can you promise me that if he comes to you for help, you'll agree to help him?"

"You really care about my brother, don't you?" Mycroft tilted his head slightly to one side – the same way Sherlock does. "You've known him for less than a year."

"Well, I believe in him. There's not much more that can be said," Amy's phone beeped – there was a new development in the case. "Well I'd love to stay and chat, but your brother and John are apparently fugitives. They were arrested and escaped, now hiding in someone's flat."

Mycroft rolled his eyes and sighed.

"That's all you have to say about that?" Amy was irritated by his response.

"He's done worse."

"Really, Mycroft?"

"I'm sorry, Amy, but this doesn't change the fact that my brother, well, Sherlock is never going to change, which is why I will promise to help him, but only because I doubt he'll ask for help."

Amy stood up, ready to leave.

"Mrs. Williams," Amy turned around before Mycroft continued. "What if I told you that the Doctor was alive? The Doctor that you know. And that he would show you Sherlock's future if I asked him for you?"

"Don't you dare lie to me. Unlike you, I was there. I watched him die. So don't you dare," Amy said with pure hatred in her voice.

"I need to know."

"No, you of all people shouldn't meddle with anyone's future, no matter what it'll be," Amy said with her back towards Mycroft and her hand on the doorknob.

"The universe brought you to all of these people. They know the Doctor. You could take the chance to see into Sherlock's future."

Amy opened the door and left the Diogenes club. She made her way outside the building and she felt the cool air against her hot skin. She took in a few deep breaths and tried to concentrate, but her mind was jumbled with her interaction with Mycroft.

_'What the hell just happened?' _She thought to herself.

She instinctively pulled out her phone and looked at the text message. She immediately deleted it. A cab was driving down her way and she hailed it.

"221 Baker Street, please."

The cab ride back wasn't particularly long, but it gave her plenty of time to think. She could see the potential of cab rides and why Sherlock was so keen to use them. Amy replayed Mycroft's words in her mind. When she opened her eyes, she found that she was at Baker Street. She paid the cabbie and stepped out and looked around. There was one car waiting by the curb, and by the looks of it, it was Lestrade's. She opened the door, and walked up to Sherlock and John's flat. The door was open and she could see Lestrade pacing about, and Sally speaking to him. Lestrade was the first to catch her eye.

"Amy!" Lestrade walked up to her.

Amy looked at Lestrade and then at Sally. Both of them looked tired and stressed.

"Have you any idea of where Sherlock or John is?" Lestrade asked.

Before Amy could speak, Sally interrupted, "She's not going to tell us. She's friends with them."

"Amy?"

"No, I don't know. I haven't heard from them since your first visit. What happened?" Amy sounded convincing enough to evade the suspicions of Donovan.

"We had them in cuffs, but they escaped," Lestrade explained.

"Them?" Amy asked as if she were clueless with what happened.

"Sherlock and John."

"Why?" Amy looked at him incredulously.

"Sherlock's a suspect in the case, John punched the Chief Superintendant in the nose," Lestrade stifled a smile at the latter.

Sally's phone started to ring, so she left the room to go and take the call. Lestrade leaned in close to Amy.

"I'm sorry it's come to this, Amy," Lestrade quietly apologized.

Amy nodded, "Do you believe what they're saying about him?"

Lestrade hesitated, and Amy realized that doubt slowly crept into his mind. Sally came in as Amy took a seat in Sherlock's chair.

"Sir, we have to go back to the station," Sally said.

"Alright," Lestrade said. "Good bye, Amy."

She watched them as she left, and as soon as she heard the door closed, she immediately got to work. She looked for anything that she could find that would mean clues to where Sherlock and John were. John was cryptic enough with the text – he literally just said they were 'at a flat, waiting for her to come'. He wasn't helpful enough to provide a name, but she at least knew it was a woman's flat. Amy looked at the table and sorted through the papers until she came upon something particular, something she said she wouldn't read because it wasn't good for anyone. It was the same copy that she saw sitting underneath a pile of papers at the Diogenes club. It was on the front page of the Sun: 'Sherlock: the Shocking Truth' by Kitty Riley. With a photo right beside Kitty's name, she now found it even easier to find her. On the computer, Amy made a quick search and got an address in less than 5 minutes. In less than twenty minutes, she found herself standing outside the door of Kitty's flat.


	22. Chapter 22

_FYI, this isn't the last chapter._

* * *

**Chapter 22**

Amy found the door was already opened. She looked around and found the draft articles of Sherlock. They were new, all about him being a fraud, and ready for publishing. Underneath, there were pictures of Moriarty, but it wasn't him. It was a man named Rich Brook – an actor. But there was something off putting about where Amy was. The door was opened and the lights were on, but where was Kitty? Walking up the stairs, she noticed blood seeping out underneath another closed door. Carefully, Amy opened the door and found the body of Kitty Riley on the ground with a bullet in her chest. The window was just partially opened, but the window had an obvious bullet hole in it. Kitty was closing her window when she got shot – she had information that could get her killed. There was a footprint on the window frame, as if someone had jumped out the window. Amy pulled out her phone and called the police, but left an anonymous tip.

With Kitty technically unable to help, she went back to Baker Street with her articles and Rich's CV in hand. Amy looked over the stuff again and read the article. She deduced that everything she was reading, the scheme Moriarty was cooking up, and all of his work was to make Sherlock ordinary, to make him seem like a fraud. But Amy knew better, she knew there was no way Sherlock was a fraud. Doubt was the one thing that Moriarty would never plant in Amy's head, no matter how perfectly real it all looked. Amy smiled knowing that even Moriarty, a master criminal, couldn't fool her.

Meanwhile, Sherlock was walking down a hallway of St. Bartholomew's Hospital, and stopped to look out the window at the street below. It was the middle of the night or quite possibly the morning – Sherlock didn't keep track of time.

"Sherlock Holmes," a woman stood at the opposite end of the hallway.

He turned his head to look at her. He wondered how she got to where she stood without making any noise. She began to walk up to him.

"Deducing away? Of course you would," she smiled as she neared him. "She said you'd need this."

With the woman close up, Sherlock was able to deduce her. Dressed with an odd contraption on her wrist, and gigantic curly hair, she was also a mystery to him. She handed him a small rubber ball.

"Who did?" Sherlock asked as he held it in his hands and stared her down.

"My mother," she winked and started walking away, but suddenly stopped. "No sense in trying to figure me out now, dear. You can leave that for later. Might want to hurry back anyway, John will be here soon."

Sherlock looked out the window for any approaching cabs and then back at the woman, but she disappeared.

"Curious," Sherlock began tossing the ball around in his hands as he walked back into the lab. "How did she know?"

Sherlock sat on the floor and began playing with it. Like the woman said, John arrived.

"Got your message."

"The computer code is the key to this. If we find it, we can use it – beat Moriarty at his own game."

"What do you mean, 'use it'?"

"He used it to create a false identity, so we can use it to break into the records and destroy Richard Brook," Sherlock looked at John.

"And bring back Jim Moriarty again."

Sherlock stood up, "Somewhere in 221B, he left it hidden."

"What did he touch?" John and Sherlock were facing the table.

"An apple, nothing else."

"Did he write anything down?"

"No."

John drummed his fingers on the work surface, and then turned away from Sherlock, trying to think of anything that Moriarty could have left. Sherlock had his back to John and began to text Moriarty. Hours passed by as Sherlock waited. John had fallen asleep. A phone call waked John up.

"Hello?" John groaned. "Yeah, speaking."

Sherlock looked at John.

"Er, what? What happened? Is she okay?" John paused, listening to what the other person at the other end of the line was saying. "Oh my God. Right, yes, I'm coming."

"What is it?"

"Paramedics. Amy – she's been shot," John rubbed his eyes and paced about.

"What? How?" Sherlock didn't sound surprised – almost as if he'd been expecting a call like this to come.

John spoke anxiously, "Well, probably one of the killers you managed to attract. Jesus, Jesus. She's dying, Sherlock. Let's go."

"You go, I'm busy," Sherlock looked away.

John turned around with an expression of shock and anger, "Busy?"

"Thinking. I need to think."

"You need to...? Doesn't she mean anything to you? You flew to Leadworth just to see if she actually had a husband! She's the female version of YOU!"

Sherlock shrugged, "She just lives downstairs."

"She's dying, you machine!" John shook his head, regaining some calamity to the situation. "Sod this. Sod this. You stay here if you want, on your own."

"Alone is what I have. Alone protects me."

John looked back at Sherlock once more. "No. Friends protect people. I'm giving you once more chance, Sherlock. This is Amy for God's sake."

Sherlock didn't budge and John left.

_Meanwhile ..._

Amy had fallen asleep in Sherlock's flat, and she woke up to the sound of drilling and a nursery rhyme in her head.

"Humpty dumpty..." Amy muttered.

She rubbed her eyes a bit, not smudging the makeup she had on, and combed her hair with her fingers. She stood up from the seat she was sitting in and stretched. She checked her phone, and there were a few missed calls: one from her modelling agency, one from Rory, and one from John. Amy put her jacket on and walked down the stairs where she found the source of the drilling.

"Good morning, Amy," Mrs. Hudson said cheerily. "Do you know if everything is okay now with the police? Has Sherlock sorted it all out?"

"I don't know," Amy yawned.

"Here, why don't I go and make you a cuppa?" Mrs. Hudson rubbed Amy's back in comfort.

"Thanks, Mrs. Hudson," Amy awkwardly stood there in a sort of daze wondering what to do next.

The door burst open and John appeared before Amy.

"Oh, John!" Amy straightaway hugged John. "What's going on?"

"But ...," John looked at her with sudden realization. "Oh my God."

John raced out of the building with Amy following, "what's happening!?"

"Taxi!" John and Amy got in. "St. Bart's hospital. Fast."

"Is that where you were the whole time?" Amy asked.

"Yes, of course. We ... Sherlock," John stuttered.

"John, breathe. You need to concentrate," Amy made him look at her.

Unexpectedly, Amy's phone rang, "Hello?"

"Amy, where are you?" it was Sherlock on the other line.

"Why are you calling, you never call," Amy was slightly worried.

"Answer the question," it almost sounded as if Sherlock was begging.

"I'm in a cab, on the way to St. Bart's with John," Amy looked at John.

"Is that Sherlock?" John asked, and Sherlock could hear John's voice.

Sherlock hung up.

"He hung up," Amy said as she looked at her phone confused. "Why did he even call?"

"I don't know," John kept his sights on the roads ahead.

Minutes later, they arrived at St. Bart's. John's phone rang.

"Hello?"

"John."

"Hey, Sherlock, you okay?" John was jogging to the entrance with a concerned Amy behind him.

"Turn around and walk back the way you came now. You and Amy," Sherlock instructed.

"No, we're coming in," John and Amy slowed to a walking pace.

"Just do as I ask. Please," Sherlock spoke frantically and Amy could hear even through the phone.

"Where?" John looked at Amy.

They walked close together to where they thought they had originally arrived.

"Stop there."

"Sherlock?"

"Okay, look up. I'm on the rooftop."

"Oh, God," John and Amy looked up.

John put his phone on speakerphone so that Amy could hear what Sherlock was saying.

"I ... I ... I can't come down, so we'll ... we'll just have to do it like this," his voice sounded distressing, making Amy and John scared.

"What's going on?" Amy asked.

"An apology," Sherlock spoke slowly. "It's all true."

"Wh-what?" John spoke.

"Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty."

"Why are you saying this?" John asked.

"I'm a fake," Sherlock's voice broke. "The newspapers were right all along. I want you two to tell Lestrade, I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson, and Molly. In fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes."

"Okay, shut up, Sherlock, shut up. The first time we met ... the first time we met, you knew all about my sister, right?" John asked.

"And you knew about my husband and Leadworth," Amy added.

"Nobody could be that clever."

"You could," Amy insisted. "Sherlock, you're not a fraud and you're not ordinary."

"I researched you. Both of you. Before we met, I discovered everything I could to impress both of you. It's a trick, just a magic trick."

"Sherlock," Amy was choking back tears. "I promised that I would tell you my past."

Sherlock painfully laughed, "You already have."

Amy looked at him with a confused expression on her face, but, of course, Sherlock couldn't see it from where he was standing.

"You need to stay back. Whatever happens now, you do not interfere," Sherlock spoke.

Amy's heart stopped. The Doctor said those exact words before he faced his own end.

"Sherlock, who told you that!?" Amy asked frantically as she looked at John, but he shook his head in confusion.

Sherlock reached out for the two, "keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?"

"Do what?" Amy asked, tears falling down her cheeks.

"This phone call. It's, uh, it's my note. It's what people do, don't they? Leave a note?" Sherlock said it with eerie calmness in his voice.

"Leave a note when?" John shook his head, his voice shaky.

"Goodbye, John," Sherlock paused. "Amy."

John shook his head, unable to process what was happening, "No, don't."

Sherlock took one more look at his friends. John and Amy kept their eyes on Sherlock, not breaking their sights on him.

"Sherlock?" Amy realized the line went dead.

"No. SHERLOCK!"

Sherlock's arms raised and with no hesitation, he fell forwards.

"Sher ..." Amy forced herself to watch, obeying Sherlock's last wishes.

The sound of Sherlock's body slamming on the ground broke Amy's concentration and she collapsed. John began to walk to where Sherlock was but got knocked over by a cyclist. Amy wasn't sure if she blacked out, but she found herself panting and dizzy. In that moment, however, the memory of the Doctor's death came flooding back into her mind, and she began to have a full on panic attack.

'_Wake up! Go on, wake up, you stupid bloody idiot!'_

'_Amy! Stay back! The Doctor said stay back!'_

'_That most certainly is the Doctor, and his is most certainly dead.'_

Amy attempted to stand up and found herself slowly making her way to the body, but someone was holding her back, "No! NO! SHERLOCK! I NEED TO SEE HIM!"

"Mother, you can't!" River was trying to calm Amy down.

"Let me go!" Amy tried to fight, but it felt as if her own body was shutting down.

Amy saw that John was nearly to the body until he was out of Amy's sights. River forced Amy to face her.

"Get me out of here, anywhere. River. Please," Amy begged. "I need to go."

"Mother, listen to me. I won't teleport you anywhere," River held Amy's face in her hands. "Go to John. He needs you."

It took a few more minutes of crying, but Amy found strength in that last sentence and nodded, wiping away the tears. She tried to make her breathing level.

"Rule number seven – never run when you are scared." River made sure Amy understood. "Be strong. I'll come back, okay?"

Amy nodded and turned away from River, taking a few cautious steps to make sure she wouldn't fall before walking in a normal pace. She found John standing on the sidewalk staring into the distance. She looked down at the sidewalk and immediately regretted it. Sherlock's blood had pooled in one spot. This made her nauseated, but she forced herself to go to John.

"John?" Amy walked up to him, but he was still in a daze. "Come on."

Amy led him away from the blood, and to the road where they caught a cab to Baker Street. The silence and the fact that Sherlock's presence was missing killed both of them inside. They couldn't talk. And Amy's head felt like bursting because of it. The Doctor was dead. Sherlock Holmes was dead.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

John and Amy arrived back at Baker Street. Amy stepped out the cab first, and looking at John she saw reluctance in his eyes. Perhaps this wasn't the best place to come to, but where else could they go? It took a few seconds, but John forced himself out of the cab. They walked through the front door into the foyer area. Amy hadn't noticed this before, but besides Sherlock, everything seemed dead. The dust floating around seemed heavy, the furniture had shadows hanging over them, and the sunshine was dull. There was no life in 221 Baker Street. Amy began walking towards Mrs. Hudson's flat, but John pulled on her arm.

"Wait," John stopped Amy. "Let me tell Mrs. Hudson."

Amy thought it over, "I'll phone Lestrade."

They both went their own ways. John took his time walking to Mrs. Hudson, trying to arrange words to say to her. Quietly, he knocked on her door and she opened it with the same friendly and cheery demeanour.

'_Oh, poor Mrs. Hudson,' _John thought to himself.

"Can I come in?" John asked.

"Of course, dear," Mrs. Hudson led him in. "Has everything been sorted with the police?"

John noticed an aching pain coming from his leg, "Mrs. Hudson, I think you'd better sit down."

Mrs. Hudson did so in the most worried manner, anxiously placing her hands on her lap and looking up at John.

"Sher," John started, but couldn't finish the sentence, and felt his leg start to throb. "It's not good. He's... he's not ... he won't be coming back. He won't ever be coming back."

"What do you mean, John?"

He swallowed and realizing he couldn't say it, he let Mrs. Hudson think for herself. Amy stood in the foyer and called Lestrade. It took a few rings before he picked up. In the background, Scotland Yard didn't seem very busy as it was a few days ago.

"Lestrade? Uh," Amy didn't know how to phrase it.

"Amy? Is everything alright?" Lestrade asked, making Amy want to burst into tears, but she held up.

"No, not exactly," Amy leaned on the wall.

"What's wrong?" Lestrade asked. "Have you heard from John or Sherlock?"

"John's here. But it's Sherlock."

"What about?" Lestrade began to get worried.

"Erm. Sher-Sherlock," Amy began. "He's dead."

There was a long pause, and Amy wondered if Lestrade was still on the other line, "What?"

"He's dead," Amy whispered.

Amy could hear sobbing come from Mrs. Hudson's flat. At least Lestrade was taking it better.

"How?" Lestrade took his time forming one word sentences.

"He jumped off the roof of St. Bart's," Amy solemnly told him.

There was some commotion coming from Lestrade's end - he was writing something down.

"Amy? Should I send someone to Baker Street?" Lestrade asked.

"No, no. It's fine, I think," Amy saw John come out. "Sorry, Lestrade. I have to go."

"No, wait – Amy," Amy heard Lestrade as she ended the call.

"Who else can we call?" John asked.

"Mycroft and Molly," Amy replied.

"I can't, especially not Mycroft," John held his hand to his face.

Amy nodded and made both calls for John's sake. He walked up to his flat. It was hard breaking the news for both of them, but it had to be done. Mycroft instructed for arrangements to be made for the funeral, but she ignored the suggestion. Ending both calls, Amy began to make her way up to Sherlock's flat, but with each step she took, fond memories began to flood her mind. It became so overwhelming that she began hyperventilating and she needed to go outside.

As she stood in the fresh air, grasping the doorknob for support, she watched people pass by not realizing that a great person had died. She could hear commotion in Sherlock and John's flat. John was angrily throwing things around – probably the beakers and test tubes – but afterwards came wailing and sobbing. Grief was not good for the soldier. She walked upstairs, using the handrail as a support and opened the door. John was sitting on the ground with his hands on his face. Amy helped him up and sat with him on the couch, holding him. He was crying, and her own tears were falling from her face. He held on tightly. After a while, and a grumbling stomach later, Amy got up.

"Let me make you some food, tea, anything," Amy suggested. "You need to eat."

John nodded and sat with his arms on his knees, looking out the window. Amy made him a cup of tea and some bread and butter. He ate in silence.

"Do you need anything else?"

"I don't know," John looked down.

"Well, time," Amy suggested.

"It's relative," John looked away.

"In dimensions, in space, sure. But time will help," Amy slightly smiled, but frowned when John saw.

"I lost my best friend."

"I know."

"No, you don't," he said in a hostile voice.

"Yes, I do. I really do," Amy looked at him.

"I'm sorry, Amy. I didn't mean that," John wiped his eyes. "I need to get out of here. I can't stay here."

John put his plate and tea down, and put on his coat. He scrolled through his phone looking for any messages from Sherlock saying it was all a joke – anything to make him forget what happened.

"Where are you going to go?" Amy looked at him from where she was sitting.

"I don't know," John put his phone away and rubbed his leg.

A few minutes after John left, Amy washed the dishes and looked around the flat. Doing some tidying up, she went through some old papers, laughed at some memories, but she avoided Sherlock's room – at least for now. That was too painful. She found Mrs. Hudson still crying and went to console her. Eventually, Amy made her way back to her flat and found River waiting for her on the other side of her bedroom door.

"Mother," River embraced Amy, who immediately began to tear up.

After a moment of sadness, Amy released and looked at her daughter. She tried her best to smile. She didn't want her daughter to see her weak.

"He's dead," Amy said without emotion.

"Right now, you have to focus," River said.

"It doesn't matter," Amy looked away when she realized they were having the same conversation as when they were on Lake Silencio. "What do we do?"

River looked on, "Keep staying strong."

Amy questioned her current situation, "Can he be dead? He wouldn't. No, he can't. He'd outlive everyone to win. To be right. He was supposed to change the game."

"What are you going to do?" River asked, seeing that Amy's rambling was going nowhere.

Amy remembered the Doctor's send off, and Mycroft's suggestion, "John and I. We'll have to begin planning Sherlock's funeral."

"Amy, you have to grieve," River held her hand and stroked her back.

Amy backed away, "no, if Sherlock were here, he'd tell me to move on. Sentiment is useless."

"You don't believe that," River was surprised at what she said – it didn't sound at all like Amy.

Amy's heart hardened when she said it, and some part of her knew that it wasn't true, "I at least owe him that, to keep emotionless, to keep that away from messing with my mind."

River sat in silence and put in some coordinates in her vortex manipulator. Amy found her going over Sherlock's last words again. Doing so, Amy had a revelation.

"River?"

"Yes, Amy?"

"I made a promise," Amy started. "I made a promise to Sherlock and I'm still going to keep it."

"Where do you want to go?" River stood up.

"I need you to take me to him. The moment before he jumps, before John and I get to St. Bart's," Amy confidently and emotionlessly told River.

"You'll only suffer more."

Amy laughed painfully – there was no way that she could suffer more than what she was currently feeling, "I promised."

"Are you sure?"

"He can't die without knowing who I am."

River nodded and they soon found themselves standing not on the rooftop of St. Bart's, but outside in an alleyway.

"River, where are we?"

"A few days before the fall and just after returning from Baskerville," she replied, and ducked into the alley. "Right over there is Baker Street."

Amy didn't understand why River brought her here, but she instinctively walked towards Baker Street, not stopping until she realized she was under Sherlock's window. Amy saw movement in her own flat, and deduced that it was her own past self. Amy wondered if this was when Sherlock was going to ask about her past – the day where they got back from Baskerville and the day he thought he saw her outside.

Amy looked up and saw Sherlock. She smiled. He smiled back, but with an incredulous look attached to it. Amy wasn't sure how to leave, her past self would be in Sherlock's flat momentarily and he'd ask why she was outside, but Sherlock's momentary glance away from the window gave Amy a chance to leave.

"Why here?" Amy asked when she saw River.

"Because you need to see him as he is, not when Moriarty was trying to convince people that he was a fraud. You need to see him like this because you'll want to always remember him as this."

"I need to see him before he jumps," Amy asked her daughter.

"Are you sure?" River stopped.

"Please, River. I'm sure that what I say won't change his mind either way, I just need to tell him," Amy implored.

River nodded and held her mother's hand, and in a few seconds, they were on top of Bartholomew hospital. They were behind the entrance way to the roof, so Sherlock wasn't able to spot them as of yet.

"I'll be right here. You only have a few minutes before your past self and John arrives. I'll come get you when it's time," River instructed quickly and quietly.

Amy nodded and began to tip toe to where Sherlock was. She immediately saw the body of Moriarty on the ground with a gun in his hand and blood seeping out of his head. The puddle began to grow wider and wider as she got nearer and nearer to Sherlock. Sherlock had his back to Amy. Her steps were so quiet or he could have been so distracted that Amy managed to get within arm's lengths without him noticing.

"Sherlock."


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

Sherlock whipped his whole body around at the sound of Amy's voice, he was utterly and completely baffled and the expression on his face showed it, "What the hell are you doing here? How did you find me?"

"It doesn't matter," Amy looked at him for a moment and then found that she was hugging him. "I promised I would tell you about myself, and I know this is the worst possible time to do so, but my word is sound. You have to understand that this is the short version."

Amy let go and looked at Sherlock. He looked sad and distressed.

Amy took a breath – it was all or nothing, "The Doctor is a 900 year old time travelling alien whose TARDIS is a time machine. Jack Harkness? He's from the 51st century and can never die. I married a man who waited outside a box for me for 2000 years. I've been to the edge of the universe and back. I've saved the human race more than a few times now, too, because of the Doctor."

She let Sherlock digest that information, but before he could speak, she added a little more, "Sherlock, you see the world in extraordinary ways. You can talk faster than you think. I know you rationalize everything in order to understand what's in front of you, but you have to know that this won't sound real. But when people walk with you, they see the battlefield. When they walk with me, they see the universe with the help of the Doctor. And I'm begging you to trust what I say, because you can't jump without knowing the truth and this is it."

Sherlock blinked as his brain was operating in overdrive trying to process everything. It all sounded irrational to him, so he started off slow and used the most recent information to dissect what she said.

"How do you know I'm going to jump?" Sherlock asked.

"Because I've seen ...," Amy could see that Sherlock was looking beyond her shoulder.

"You!" Sherlock yelled.

River ignored him and went straight to Amy, holding onto her arm and spoke loud enough for Sherlock to hear, "Mother, we have to go. You and John will be here soon."

"Mother?" Sherlock looked at Amy.

"Right, Sherlock, meet my daughter," Amy shook her head and laughed painfully.

"What did she mean that you and John will be here soon? Who are you?" Sherlock walked up to Amy and examined her carefully.

"I'm from the future, just a few hours after your fall," Amy explained.

"I don't believe that," Sherlock said, taking his phone and dialing Amy's number.

The Amy standing in front of Sherlock left her phone in her room, but the Amy in the cab with John picked up.

"Amy, where are you?" Sherlock asked suspiciously while looking at the Amy standing in front of him. "Answer the question."

Listening to Amy on the phone and watching Amy in front of him confirmed the truth. He even managed to hear John on the other side. He tilted his head and made some deductions. This future Amy Pond that he was talking to – with the bloodshot eyes, the dishevelled hair, and the pallid complexion – told him to believe what she was saying. Logic forced him to understand two things: there were such things as time travel and aliens, and that she was telling the truth.

"I believe you," Sherlock said at last.

Amy breathed a sigh of relief, "And I've fulfilled my promise."

"Thank you."

"Amy, we have to leave now. They're almost here," River tugged on her arm again, now pulling her away from Sherlock. "We have less than a minute."

"Wait," Amy turned to look at River. "There's always time."

Amy hugged Sherlock again, and whispered in his ear, "Say this, and say this exact wording to me when they arrive: 'You need to stay back. Whatever happens now, you do not interfere.' Those exact words. Promise?"

She let go for the last time and she saw him nod. The sound of a car pulling up to the hospital made everyone look over the edge. It was the past version of Amy and John. River began pulling Amy away from Sherlock.

Amy began to panic and spurted some words out before River could activate her vortex manipulator, "Sherlock. John and I are going to be standing there watching you, and I'm begging you, please, oh God, Sherlock. We believe in you. We'll always believe in you, and you have to know that. Remember us."

Sherlock nodded, turned around, and stood on the edge of the roof with his phone in his ear. He looked back at Amy one more time, eyes filled with a readiness but reluctance to die. She looked at him with melancholic hope and sorrow, but in a flash, Amy and River ended up back in Amy's flat. Amy couldn't control her emotions and burst into sobs, eventually crying herself to sleep.

Amy woke up to see that River had left a note, dating to two days ago: _'John is missing.'_

"What?" Amy held onto the note tightly and looked for her phone.

Sitting on the nightstand, she noticed no new messages or phone calls. She did notice the date and realized she really managed to pass out for two days – a sign of grief. Leaving her flat, she raced upstairs with her phone on her ear hoping that John would pick up the phone. She burst through the door and saw an uncanny stillness to the room. Even the dust floating around looked frozen in time. She walked through the living room and kitchen but John was nowhere to be seen. She came upon Sherlock's room. Hesitantly, she opened the door slowly.

Taking a few steps in, she found it too quiet and immediately stepped outside, closing the door behind her. Feeling ridiculous, she turned around, gripped her phone tightly in her hand, and walked back in Sherlock's room. Everything was the same. Nothing had moved. Even his unmade bed remained the same the moment he awoke and got out of bed. She wondered if he knew that waking up meant that he was going to die that day, but she pushed that thought away.

_'You can't kill an idea,' _She heard Sherlock's voice so clear in her mind.

"But you can push it as far away as possible," Amy said out loud, trying to drown out the memory.

The sound of someone crashing on the stairway caught Amy's attention and she quietly closed the door and jogged to the stairs. It was John.

"John!" Amy helped him up.

"A-Amy?" the intense smell of alcohol on John's breath caught Amy by surprise. It was barely ten o'clock in the morning.

"Here, let me help you," Amy neared him and realized that besides alcohol, he smelled like an alleyway. "Where have you been?"

"I don't ... the pub ... and I don't need," John's speech was slurred.

Amy helped him up and in the sunlight she noticed bruising around John's face. She kept silent for now. At one point, all of John's weight had shifted onto her and she looked at him and realized he was unconscious. She managed to muster up all her strength to carry him up the last few sets of stairs before laying him down on the ground. She checked his heart rate and his breathing, which were thankfully both there, though not at its fullest.

"John!" Amy yelled a few times, still crouched down at him.

He woke after the fifth, and stumbled to the bathroom to vomit. As soon as he came out, he sat on his bed and collapsed into his pillow. Amy quickly went to get some water and an Aspirin, and forced him to take some. Finally, he slept. Seeing John sleep peacefully put Amy at ease at the moment. Amy took a look around his room and from the looks of it, it seemed like he hadn't been home since Sherlock's suicide. The thought of Sherlock made Amy's heart ache. She distracted herself with the contents sitting on John's bedside table.

The lamp needed to be dusted, the water was sitting there, and a few sheets of paper lay underneath. Pulling the drawer open, she found a notebook and a business card sitting on top. The business card was to Ella Thompson– John's psychiatrist. She took the notebook out and sat down in the chair across John's bed. She began reading. It was a thorough guide to each case that they worked on. News clippings, reports, and post it notes of banter between Sherlock and John. She worked through each page, reading every single bit that she could. Amy found her holding her mouth and weeping when she finished. She was experiencing happiness and sadness, and everything in between. It was all documented so well. Every moment preserved. Amy looked at John and smiled. Standing up to put the notebook back in, she noticed something peeking out under a pile of papers. Moving things around, she pulled out John's gun. Looking at the state of John and then at the gun, she quietly snatched it and brought it down to her flat – she didn't need another close friend to do something that would cause such grief.

Before walking back up to see John, she decided to be prepared with tea, jammy dodgers, and bread and butter. Of course, there wasn't any milk and that made her laugh and then frown. She went to go pick some up and finally had food to bring to John. She set the food down on the table and ate some biscuits. Taking care of John helped take some of the pain away. Sitting in the silence made her drowsy, and she eventually succumbed to sleep.

_'Glorious Pond, taking care of John, good on you,' the Doctor kissed Amy's forehead. _

_ She looked to see where she was and saw that she was in the TARDIS again. She excitedly hugged him. Only to see that Sherlock was right behind him. _

_ 'Sherlock?' _

_ 'Amy.'_

_ She looked around again and noticed she was on the roof of St. Bart's. She was standing on the edge with Sherlock and they were both looking down. Sherlock looked at Amy, and she looked back._

_ 'It's a trick. Just a magic trick.'_

Amy woke up to the smell of sour milk. She rubbed her eyes and looked at her watch. She had fallen asleep for nine hours. It was almost dark outside. Looking at John, he was still asleep, but now stirring. Amy took the now cold tea and bad milk and refreshed it. Going back, John was awake. John stretched and rubbed his head, but winced when he touched the bruises on his face. Amy poured tea for him. He drank it in small increments.

Amy asked cautiously. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I think," John asked her for information. "I don't remember anything. Did I get into a fight?"

"I don't know. I wasn't there. You were missing for two days, John," Amy told him worriedly.

John looked down, "Sorry, Amy."

"How did you even get home? You were incredibly drunk!" Amy wondered. "You couldn't even speak properly."

"I can't remember. A cab was there, I'm not sure."

There was a moment of silence.

"You need to see Ella. You can't drink your emotions away," Amy suggested.

John nodded and sniffed, then realizing it was him that smelled horrible, "do I actually smell like that?"

"Yeah," Amy smirked. "You smell terrible."

John forced a laugh, "Thanks. Well. I will go and take a shower, then."

"Good idea," Amy said as she stood up to leave him to it.

She walked down with the tray of eaten food and washed the dishes. She placed them back in their respective spots in the cupboards. The bell rang. Amy didn't remember if Mrs. Hudson was home, so she quickly went to go and see who it was. Opening the door, Mycroft stood in front of her.

"Hello."

"Mycroft."

"We need to discuss the matter of my brother's belongings."

"Come in," Amy cleared the way.

"No, this will be short," Mycroft said. "I want you to leave everything, except the science equipment, as it is. Do not take anything and do not bury anything with his body."

"Why?" Amy didn't understand.

"It's imperative that you obey my instructions. Otherwise, Mrs. Williams, I will see you at his funeral."

"Who's planning it?" Amy asked.

"You are," Mycroft turned away when he said it.

"Mycroft," Amy stopped him. "I'm sorry about Sherlock."

Mycroft paused and then continued on his way. He would not return to Baker Street for a very long time.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

Minutes after Mycroft left, there was a knock on the door. Confused, Amy hesitantly opened the door. This time it was Lestrade. He clearly looked distressed.

"Oh God, Amy," Lestrade sounded relieved. "Is John okay?"

"What? What do you mean?"

"Is he back?"

"Yes," Amy looked upstairs. "He's in the shower."

"He showed up at Scotland Yard yesterday, drunk out of his mind, and began yelling at the Chief Superintendent's window," Lestrade held his hand at his forehead. "After that, I couldn't keep track of him."

Amy nodded, and tried to stifle a laugh at the imagery, "How's things at the station?"

"To be honest, it was a surprise at first, but now I don't think many people care," Lestrade honestly told her. "He made people feel inadequate all the time. How are you?"

"Coping. I guess I'm about to arrange a funeral," Amy said frankly.

"His brother's not doing it?" Lestrade looked confused.

"No, he isn't. Can't bear to do it, I suspect. How are you, Greg?"

"I'm fine. A bit of a shock, y'know? I – yeah," Lestrade looked down and Amy could see the heavy under eye circles that Lestrade had – a sign that Lestrade was also staying up late and drinking alcohol to suppress emotions. "Okay, well I'll see you around, Amy. Tell me if you, or John, or Mrs. Hudson need anything. Anything at all."

"Thanks, Greg," Amy said as he left.

Amy closed the door behind him and sighed. She walked to Sherlock's flat, adamant that moving on would be the best thing for her now. She would repeat that moving on is what Sherlock would do.

_'The only way forward is forward' _Amy heard Sherlock's voice in her head.

"The only way forward is forward," Amy agreed and looked at the picture of Sherlock, John and Amy sitting perched on the table. "No sense in looking back, right?"

With John's laptop sitting on the table, she turned it on and began to surf the internet. About an hour later, she managed to find information about the funeral process and how to cope with the death of a friend. This might have been useful when the Doctor died. With her pad of paper filled with phone numbers, addresses, and names, she began to call some people, only to realize that it was night time and that no one was at work.

"Amy?" John called out.

"Yeah?" Amy began to walk up towards John.

"Have you seen my gun?" John asked.

"No," Amy lied.

"Alright," John looked at her. "Well I've called Dr. Thompson. I'm seeing her tomorrow."

Amy took a good look at John. He was only in a t shirt and pajama bottoms, but she could see bruises all over his body. Whatever happened to him must been incredibly painful. Looking closely from where she was standing, but not so that he would notice, she realized that some bruises were newer than some, and some were hiding red cuts on his wrists. She didn't realize how badly John was taking it. She started to feel a bit better about taking his gun away.

"Good, I'm glad," Amy looked at him, and then at the ground. "Mycroft tasked me with planning the funeral. Do you want to help?"

The question caught John by surprise, but he shook his head. He turned around and walked back into his room, but not before scratching the marks on his wrist and his aching leg.

_The next day..._

Amy looked at her checklist of people to call. She called the hospital and was directed to Molly.

"Hello Molly!" Amy tried her best to not sound sad, though not happy. "Are you Sherlock's coroner? Mortician?"

Amy never thought she had to say that sentence ever, but Molly took the call in a very professional manner, "Yes, I am."

"How can we go about transferring the body ... Sherlock ... to a funeral home?" Amy asked.

"Usually, you'd go to a funeral director, who would then contact me, but I have a name of a man who I've worked with before that can help you," Molly sounded confident over the phone. "This is a very hard time for you and John, and I know how it feels, so I want to help you as much as I can."

"Are you sure? I don't want to burden you, Molly," Amy double checked.

"Yes, it's fine. It's completely fine."

"Thanks Molly, I really appreciate it."

Amy got the number and name from Molly and called the funeral director. He told her of the various things she would need to do and provided considerable help with the process. Although this provided a fair amount of distraction, there were times when she wanted to breakdown. She did not enjoy planning her friend's funeral. After two week of planning and preparation, everything was ready. Early in that first week, John avoided Baker Street completely and moved back to his previous flat. Amy could see that pushing to see his psychiatrist wasn't particularly helpful as he wasn't ready to open up just yet. Amy checked on him as frequently as she could – on the days where she wouldn't find herself crying herself to sleep, or where the days were grey.

The dreaded day had arrived. Keeping to Mycroft's wishes, only the science stuff was packed away, leaving everything still in its place. The cab ride to the cemetery was quiet. Mrs. Hudson looked solemn, and John looked exhausted. In her hands, Amy held onto the deerstalker that she bought for Sherlock many months ago. She fiddled with the ear flaps and wondered why anyone would wear it. Then she imagined Sherlock in it and oddly thought that he would suit it. Maybe it was high cheekbones and successful attempts to look mysterious with his collar turned up, but it made her smile – the first genuine time in a few weeks. They arrived at the cemetery on time and took slow and careful steps to the grave.

There was an ample sized crowd there. There was the usual: Lestrade, Molly, Mycroft. Some unusual: Anderson, Sally, and other members of the police force that Sherlock made feel inadequate. And some forgotten: Angelo, Sarah, and Sebastian Wilkes. Rory and River made a surprise appearance, but stayed inconspicuous amongst the crowd. Everyone moved to make way for the three.

Amy's throat felt tight when she saw the casket and she found her breathing shallow. Knowing that Sherlock's still and lifeless body was in there made her want to run away. She could already feel the tears start to well up in her eyes. The moment John saw the casket, he thought of all his friends that died in the war that did and didn't get a proper burial – but this wasn't just any friend. Amy, John, Mrs. Hudson, and Mycroft sat down. The ceremony began.

John kept his attention focused and deliberate. He found it hard not to stare at the casket. He managed to pry his eyes off for a moment to look at the faces standing before him. The pastor was speaking in a somber tone. Sally and Anderson looked uncomfortable, but emotionless. John caught the eyes of Rory, and gave him a subtle nod as an appreciative notion for coming, but wondered who the woman with the curly hair standing beside him was. Looking back to Amy, he could see she was trying her best not to breakdown. Mrs. Hudson was already sniveling.

John was right, Amy was trying not to burst into sobs or tears, but she needed to prevent her emotions from getting the best to her. It's what Sherlock would have wanted. It came to the point where it was time to make eulogies. John went first.

"I met Sherlock, ironically, in St. Bart's," Amy realized that the place John and Sherlock met was also the place where Sherlock and John last saw and spoke to each other before Sherlock met his untimely end. "Long story short, we became flat mates within that day of meeting each other. It's extraordinary what he could do. He could take one look at you and tell you your life story. That's what he did with me, and surely, he did it with each one of you too. Of course, I'd suspect that he'd piss you off with how correct he was. But I was astounded. No one could do that. And using that gift to help people – he could have been a con artist, for God's sake."

John coughed before continuing, "He helped people, and never asked for anything in return. This man, for he was anything but a man, was my best friend."

John stopped suddenly and looked down. His voice cracked when he began again, but returned to his seat, unable to continue with his eulogy. Amy could see that there was much more to be said, but it looked to be too painful for John. Amy rose and walked to where John spoke after a confused moment. She looked at all the faces in the crowd, then at the casket. She closed her eyes and pictured Sherlock standing next to her. Opening her eyes, she took a deep breath and began.

"Hello everyone, it is with great sadness that I stand before you today to celebrate the life of my friend, Sherlock Holmes," Amy took a breath. "I met Sherlock, well, we met when there was an explosion on Baker Street and I had to carry him out of his flat to the ambulance. After that, our interactions were limited until he asked me to assist him on a case. I was getting over another death of a friend at that time, so any distraction was welcome. And Sherlock, he was one hell of a distraction. If you've worked with him, or was just in his vicinity, you would know that he never stops. His mind, like John said, is extraordinary. He took something that looks impossible to solve look like an easy riddle. He enjoyed the game, the puzzle, but never creating them. I think he found that boring. He liked taking it apart, piece by piece, and getting to the bare bones of it all. That was him, y'know? Leading, creating an ordinary life – getting married, settling down, and having kids – wasn't for him. We've worked on many cases together and out of it came an understanding. An understanding that sometimes things go wrong, but we must move on. You've seen him work. Everything happens so fast that it's difficult to keep up."

Amy looked at John and noticed that he was rubbing his eyes, "He told me, once, that it is a mistake to theorize without all the facts. But you know what?"

John perked up, realizing this wasn't part of her speech. Amy looked at the casket once more and then spoke.

"I don't think Sherlock committed suicide because the papers said he was a fraud or because people doubted his skills. He jumped off that building to protect his friends," Amy spoke boldly and fiercely.

Amy looked to the crowd and thought she saw Sherlock proudly smiling at her words, but it was just a trick her eyes were playing on her. Everyone else's faces had changed into a mix of shock and surprise. There was a bit of muttering going around. They certainly didn't expect to hear that come out of Amy's mouth.

Amy looked down at the casket, "Sherlock Holmes, we will certainly miss you."

She folded her piece of paper and held onto it tightly before returning to her seat. Next, Lestrade went to say some things. He remarked on Sherlock's skills and valuable help to Scotland Yard. He avoided talking about the last case. In the last few moments before Sherlock's body went into the ground, Amy got the chance to place the deer stalker on the casket. In her peripheral, John was standing erect – the way a soldier would – and she held onto his hand. His shoulders slumped a bit, but he held on tightly. After Sherlock's body was buried, Amy went over to River and Rory. River looked at Amy. She wiped away some tears that had apparently fallen down Amy's cheek.

"Everybody knows that everybody dies and they say nobody knows it like the Doctor," River put her hand on Amy's shoulder. "But you know it just as well."


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

As soon as the funeral was over, River departed quickly to another adventure. Rory moved in with Amy in her small flat for the time being. It was nice having her husband take care of her, especially after weeks of caring for Mrs. Hudson and John. Luckily for her, Rory was there when Amy woke up to one of the many nightmares she had after the funeral – the fall kept replaying over and over in her dream, and the sound of Sherlock's body hitting the ground always woke her up. Amy made the decision to move out of Baker Street in two weeks time. All she had to do was to quit her job at the modeling agency, make sure that Sherlock's flat would remain untouched as to Mycroft's rule, and to run some errands.

First on her list was to run some small errands – that was the easiest as Rory was there to do most of it. A lot of those tasks included returning some items that she borrowed from various acquaintances or to say good bye to some people she knew. Second, she went to her modeling agency. They weren't particularly happy that Amy was quitting, especially since she was due for a contract renewal, but she always said that she would happily work from Leadworth.

She left Sherlock's flat the last thing on her list to the day she would officially leave London. It was Amy's first visit to Sherlock's flat in over a week. Like always, Sherlock's missing presence felt peculiar, and she couldn't help but feel so out of place in his flat. The stillness scared her, but she moved on and did some dusting, being absolutely careful not to move anything that shouldn't be moved.

Dusting made her content, though only for the reasons of coming upon items that she had happy memories attached to. She dusted the skull thoroughly and remembered the day that Sherlock had gone out and John and Amy were bored sitting in the flat waiting for him. She couldn't remember whose idea it was to play toss, but John and Amy eventually found themselves passing a skull around in the living room. Sherlock joined in, seeing it to be a helpful part of his thinking process. Amy dusted some other odds and ends before finding herself in front of Sherlock's room. Quietly, she entered. With her duster in hand, she got to it. As she was dusting, she felt as if someone was watching her, which made her feel incredibly uncomfortable, but gave her reason to finish quickly.

Amy took a look at the flat one last time. She could imagine, as clear as day, Sherlock swiftly pacing around the living room, him stopping to sit at the kitchen table to look through his microscope, or standing and composing something melodic in the corner with his violin. Amy could picture John, sitting serenely eating biscuits and drinking tea while reading the newspaper, at his desk typing up another entry in his blog, or even just arguing with Sherlock. Walking away from it all, she found tears welling up in her eyes again, and she scoffed. Sherlock would laugh at how sentimental she was being.

Amy heard the sound of footsteps coming her way. It was Rory, "Ready? The cab's here."

Amy nodded and went with her husband. Saying one last farewell to Mrs. Hudson, she couldn't help but feel bad for her. John and Amy decided it be best that they didn't say good bye to each other. Stepping out of the flat, and into the cab, Amy couldn't pry her eyes off of the first door she stepped through when she arrived in London. She couldn't help but look into Sherlock's flat and pretend to see his face. She felt Rory's hand on her arm telling her it was time to go. The trip back was quiet. Amy slept nearly the whole way there. She woke up to the complete stop of the car. Rory was a gentleman and gave Amy her space to both think and grieve. She spent most of her day walking around the town and surfing the internet.

It was nighttime when she found herself sitting in her backyard with a bottle of white wine and two glasses, and a blanket draped over her shoulders. She was staring off into the night sky when she found River walking behind her.

"Heard there was a freak meteor shower two miles away, so I got us a bottle," Amy spoke first, not breaking her sights off of the sky.

"Thank you, dear," River sat down and poured some wine.

"So where are we?"

"I just climbed out of the Byzantium. You were there. So young and didn't have a clue who I was. You're funny like that," River took a sip. "Where are you?"

"The Doctor's dead. Sherlock Holmes is dead," Amy took a big gulp.

"How are you doing?"

"How do you think?" Amy looked over at her.

"Well I don't know until you tell me."

"I killed someone. Madame Kovarian, in cold blood."

"In an aborted timeline, in a world that never was."

"Yeah, well, I can remember it, so it happened. Like how I can remember how my friend jumped to his death," Amy rubbed her forehead, the memories of both deaths seeping in. "I need to talk to the Doctor, or even Sherlock, but I can't now."

"If you could talk to either of them, would it make a difference?"

"The Doctor's dead, Sherlock's dead, so I can't."

"Oh, mother, of course the Doctor isn't," River put her hand on Amy's leg.

"Not for you, I suppose. You're seeing the younger versions of him, running around, having adventures."

"Yeah, I am," River grinned widely. "But that's not what I mean."

"Then what do you mean?"

"Okay, I'm going to tell you what I probably shouldn't. The Doctor's last secret. Don't you want to know what he whispered into my ear? It certainly wasn't his name."

"What did he whisper in your ear?" Amy's heart was beginning to beat faster. "River, what did he tell you? River!"

River laughed. And soon, Amy did too. The Doctor was alive. They toasted to that when they both settled down. When Amy sat down, gloom settled into her mind again when the thought of her telling Sherlock about her past creeped in. River caught onto this.

River held onto her hand, "Do you remember the day you were in Cardiff? And John called you?"

Amy nodded.

"Do you remember what you said?"

"It doesn't matter. Sherlock isn't the Doctor. He couldn't possibly have survived that jump. John was there, and he found no pulse."

"Amy. Do you remember?"

Amy took a moment to think, but eventually shook her head.

"You said, 'The day Sherlock Holmes stops, if he can, will be the day you look down on his body on a slab in St. Bart's.'"

"What are you going on about?" Amy was confused.

"Think," River smirked.

Amy took a few minutes to think about what she said, and she replayed the moment that Sherlock killed himself. She remembered not being able to move. She remembered John getting knocked down and unable to walk to Sherlock's body without stumbling, which meant that even he could have made mistakes diagnosing Sherlock, and she did remember not actually seeing Sherlock's body. She did not look down on his body lying on a slab in St. Bart's.

"River," Amy looked at her daughter with wide eyes.

"Oh, that man, he's always one step ahead of everyone," River interjected. "A so-called game changer, wouldn't you say?"

"Is he alive?" Amy got up close to her. "Is he really alive?"

"Spoi-" River broke out into a big grin. "Should I even say it?"

_Meanwhile …_

London was large enough for being inconspicuous, and since everyone thought that Sherlock Holmes was dead, it was the perfect hiding place. It only took a week to find out the schedules of his brother, Lestrade, and John so as to not accidentally bump into one of them. It was easy – it wasn't as if the fall had affected his deducing skills in any way.

Sherlock Holmes watched his friends from a distance. He watched as they entered a stage of emotional exhaustion and distress. He watched as John got beat up the night he decided to do some heavy drinking, but wasn't able to do anything. He watched as Amy planned his funeral and eventually left London. The inability to do nothing took a toll on him, but he did manage to place himself in ways that his friends wouldn't have expected. The night John gotten into a drunken fight, Sherlock called a cab to get John home. The time Amy called Molly for help, Sherlock offered the name of a funeral director he knew would keep up the pretense that he was dead. He was still there in their lives, but they just didn't know it.

The region of London he was in was far from anyone that he knew. Walking around meant no one would recognize him, even during the day time. But there was one day, just a few months after his supposed suicide, that he heard his name being called out.

"Sherlock Holmes!" the man a few yards behind yelled.

Sherlock didn't know whether to stop, or to continue. Nobody was supposed to know he was alive.

"Sherlock! Hey!" the man continued.

Sherlock decided to stop and find out how this person knew him. He turned around and looked at the man standing before him.

"Hello, well! Sherlock Holmes," the man shook his hand. "It's so very nice to meet you."

"How do you know who I am?"

"How does one know anyone, really?"

Sherlock tilted his head to the side.

"Through friends, acquaintances, y'know, that lot," the man smiled and answered his own question.

"And do we have a common friend or acquaintance?" Sherlock stared him down.

"Oh yes, we most certainly do!" the man smiled cheerily.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and began to deduce, but the sight of something blue in the distance caught his eyes. It was a 1960's police box sitting in the most unusual spot.

"Ah, yes, that is mine!" the man caught Sherlock's gaze and turned around and pointed at it.

"A police box?"

"Oh, yes," the man in the bow tie proudly proclaimed.

Sherlock broke off his gaze and looked back at the man standing in front of him, but began turning away seeing as the conversation was going nowhere, "I don't have many friends. So the chances of sharing one are quite slim."

Sherlock took a few steps before the man said two words in a very serious tone, "Amy Pond."

Sherlock stopped in his tracks and whipped his body around, "Who are you?"

"Amy's told you about me, I'm sure," the man smirked.

Sherlock walked up to him. The man stood his ground.

"I don't believe so," Sherlock looked away. "You most certainly aren't her husband."

"Yes, on the roof of St. Bart's, before your fall. It was the first sentence she said to you," he started.

Sherlock's memory went into overdrive, and he found himself standing on that rooftop once more with Amy by his side.

He heard Amy spoke, with the Doctor's present voice in tandem, "The Doctor is a 900 year old time travelling alien whose TARDIS is a time machine."

Sherlock blinked and looked at the man.

He smiled, "Hello. I'm the Doctor."

TO BE CONTINUED?

* * *

_Hello! Thank you very much for reading my story! As of right now, I am contemplating on whether to continue this when season 3 of Sherlock airs (attempting to keep things somewhat canon if I continue) or to end it here, but I suppose I'll make the decision when the show comes back! _

_Otherwise, thanks again for reading and I really hope you enjoyed it - I certainly enjoyed writing it. _

_Take a peek at some other stories that I'm writing - fancy a crossover between Mary Poppins and Doctor Who? Or maybe something with Peter Pan and the Doctor? If that isn't something you're into, which is totally fine, keep your eyes out for more Sherlock/DW stories from me in the near future! _


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